A Prince in Frog Skin
by AelysAlthea
Summary: Arthur lived how he wanted. Exactly how he wanted. Unfortunately, as a prince, what he wanted didn't exactly follow the guidelines of what the rest of the world considered 'proper'. No one had the guts to do anything about it, however. No one until Nimueh. Thrown into decidedly impossible circumstances against his will and outside of his capacity to correct, Arthur is forced...
1. Chapter 1 - Planting the Seeds

**Summary** : Arthur lived how he wanted. Exactly how he wanted. Unfortunately, as a prince, what he wanted didn't exactly follow the guidelines of how the rest of the world thought he was supposed to live. No one had the guts to do anything about it, however.  
No one until Nimueh.  
Thrown into circumstances against his will and outside of his capacity to correct, Arthur is forced to seek the help of a one Emrys to scavenge what is left of the life he was so cruelly torn from. It would certainly be a whole lot easier if Emrys would just listen to him as he was supposed to. Arthur was a prince, right? Emrys was supposed to listen to him.  
Apparently not everyone in the world puts much stock in the status of royalty. As if life wasn't difficult enough already.

 **Tags** : Merlin/Arthur, Modern AU, Transformations, Modern Magic

 **Rating** : Probably more of a T than an M, but I'm always hesitant to claim 'T' for down-rating it.

* * *

 **Disclaimer** : The characters, original story line and the foundations of this concept don't belong to me (though I wish they did). All thanks and credit go to the creators of Merlin - BBC and Shine, thank you so much.

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Planting the Seeds**

The magic was cold.

Icy.

Crushing.

He felt it constrict and squeeze, and had he the breath to do so he would have gasped. Yet he didn't. Couldn't. All he could do was lie prone, staring as the entire world seemed to focus upon her face as it loomed taller and larger and higher above him. Deep red lips curled in satisfaction.

"There. I'd say that should do the trick."

The trick? What trick? What was she -?

"It has been long in coming, Arthur. Far too long for lessons to be learned.

What had she done? What had she _done_ to him? How _dare_ she! How dare she even think she could –

"Your mother would have indeed been disappointed in you." She sighed almost regretfully, though her ruddy smile faded none for it. If anything it only widened further. She leaned further over him, dark eyes flashing with that ungodly satisfaction made them seem to glow almost luminescent gold and something that looked very much like amusement. "So we shall remedy that. You'll try, won't you, Arthur? For once in your life you'll make an effort?"

He struggled to curse, to rage and spit and demand, for how _dare_ she! What was -? How had she even -? _Magic?_ Magic that was freezing and crushing, constricting and smothering. Magic wasn't possible, and it should not have been possible to be cast upon _him_ _especially_ but –

"It is quite simple. You, with your frivolity and superficiality, are undeserving – "

Undeserving? What the _fuck_ did she – !

" – perceiving only so simply and plainly upon the surface, with not a care for the depths beneath –"

He would tear her a new hide, he most certainly would, as soon as the crushing, the squeezing, the freezing stopped, and he would –

" – but that is what you will learn." Her scarlet smile stretched wider as she leaned further over him once more so that her face, her raised hand, seemed to consume his entire world. With wide, furious eyes he could still see the sparking crackle of her fingertips, of the magic like blue lightning that _should not exist_. It didn't matter. God, he would rip her limb from limb for even _daring_ to touch him, regardless of what she'd been to his mother. "You'll learn from one who can show you, who sees more than that upon the surface."

Then she leaned forwards and touched her crackling finger to his forehead once more. They jolted, snapping his skin with a searing touch. She still spoke, still uttered taunting words that held a grain of instruction, but he barely heard them. They barely registered as his heart seized in his chest, as his limbs jerked and back arched, his skin pulling taut and stretching.

It hurt.

It _hurt_.

The tearing and the snapping, the crushing and the pulled and the twisting of things that shouldn't be twisted. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, all but drowning out her words to the sound of his choking gasps. He couldn't see properly, vision wavering, brightening then darkening. It hurt _everywhere_ but he was almost too furious to be terrified.

God, he would make her pay for what she'd done.

Except that when it cleared, when it finally, finally passed and he could breath, when the pain dampened to a whole body ache rather than a searing burn that charred his skin and chewed his bones… When his eyes finally cleared from the pain-induced haziness and he could raise his gaze, could glance down upon himself, it was to stare in horror. To behold what she had done.

And to realise: He would make her pay. Dearly. But right now… right now that might be just a little hard.

* * *

Merlin nearly fell down the stairs.

He didn't, not entirely, but it was still a trip and a stumble, a slide of the last few feet and a clutch at the bannister. He winced as he caught himself, steadied his feet and straightened.

"Are you alright?"

Glancing towards the kitchen, Merlin adopted an overly bright grin as he beamed at his mother poking her head through the doorway. Turning, he leaned casually against the bottom post of the bannister, crossing his arms and lifting his chin. "Completely fine. I did that entirely on purpose."

Hunith stared at him for a moment, the touch of familiar concern still just visible, before it deteriorated into an anticipated roll of her eyes and a shake of her head. Her lips quirked in a smirk. "You're not fooling me."

"Fooling you? Why would I –"

"Merlin, how often a week do you nearly trip down the stairs?"

"Hey, I only –"

"If I hadn't noticed by now I would be starting to question my observation skills." Hunith propped her hands on her waist, tucking her thumbs into the pockets of her jeans and shook her head. "We really do need to get that bannister mounted a little higher, don't we? That you have to bend nearly double to use it is a detriment to my stairwell."

"I don't need it taller," Merlin said with a disregarding wave of his hand. "I can just –"

"Fall down the stairs every other morning?" Hunith finished for him, raising her eyebrows pointedly.

Merlin ducked his head with a widening of his grin, all pretence at casual composure discarded. Not that it was anything more than a bit of fun anyway, a template and exchange of teases between himself and his mother that was practically the equivalent of a typical 'good morning' pleasantry. It was a never-ending debacle, Merlin's clumsiness; where most people gained a semblance of coordination when they passed from their teen years, Merlin simply… hadn't. "Yeah. That," he said eloquently.

Hunith shook her head with a sigh. Half turning, she gestured back over her shoulder into the kitchen. "Did you split your toenail again? I don't have anymore Band-Aids on me but I'm sure I could whip something together with some duct tape and a tissue."

Pushing himself from the bannister, Merlin followed his mother as she disappeared back into the kitchen with a chuckle. "No, I'm fine. Not that I don't appreciate your makeshift first aid methods, though."

"They're hardly makeshift, Merlin," Hunith said, skirting the kitchen counter back towards the stove. The kitchen itself wasn't small – nothing in their house was exactly small – but her bustle and the way she quietly yet completely dominated the room seemed to flood the space with her presence. "Duct tape makes the world go 'round. What have I always taught you?"

"That the only essentials I'll ever need are duct tape and a can of WD-40?"

"That's exactly correct."

The smell of poached Veggs, sharp with the tang of vinegar, swirled into Merlin's nostrils as he skirted the island counter himself and made his way to the toaster. Falling into the morning routine, he immediately set about assisting his mother with their breakfast, with setting the plates and the cutlery in the adjoining dining room, placing the coasters and boiling the kettle. That was always their way, had always been as such for as long as Merlin could remember. Every morning when he was home, every day following a night they both spent in the same house – which was practically every night – would begin with a shared breakfast. Hunith always made it so, regardless of how early she had to rise to ensure it was such.

Just the two of them. It was just the two of them and had been for… well, for almost as long as Merlin could remember, their solitude broken only sporadically by house guests. He felt guilty at times for the hours he spent at university, at work, the hours he left his mother at home alone to putter around the house and run the estate. Hunith never complained, claiming she even liked the quietness and the solitude, the manual labour of caring for their horses, but it didn't stem his guilt. Not even knowing that Tyr Seward and the kids from town came down to work out in the stables every other day and strove to keep her company.

So Merlin made up for it. In the respites of study breaks, when he didn't have to rise with the pre-dawn for a hasty breakfast with his mother before running out the door, he spent as much time with her as he could. Or at least as much time on the estate he could. Hunith claimed she didn't need him to spend the hours at home but it wasn't like he was going to change his habits now. Merlin got that stubbornness from his mother, too.

"Are you heading into town today?" Hunith asked around a mouthful of toast. They were seated at the dining table – the ridiculously oversized dining table for only two people but neither of them bothered considering minimising it – with just the two of them and the rising run as it peeked through the half-drawn curtains of the window floor-to-ceiling window. The dining room itself was as large as the kitchen, a common theme in the old estate farmhouse, but it didn't seem draughty for it. Just… big. Open. Quiet but not eerily so. Merlin had always been comfortable in open, quiet spaces for that familiarity.

He shrugged as he took a sip of tea. "Don't think so. Besides, I wrote myself up a list of what needs doing with the horses today."

Hunith paused with her fork half-raised to her mouth and shot Merlin a stare in brief silence that told him she wasn't fooled for a second. "You're allowed to leave the house, you know."

"I know."

"I'm more than capable of remaining by myself, even when Tyr doesn't spend the day."

"Yeah, I know."

"You should go and see your friends more while you have the chance."

"Are you trying to kick me out?" Merlin asked, attempting to adopt an expression of innocent hurt over the rim of his cup. He couldn't help but crack a small smile as Hunith affixed him with her gaze once more, dropped an elbow onto the table and jabbed her fork in his direction.

"Merlin Emerson, you're not fooling anyone with that act."

"I notice you didn't answer my question," he pointed out.

"That's because it's a foolish one," she replied, turning deliberately back to her breakfast with a particularly loud scrape of knife on plate. "I'm never kicking you out. You know that, so don't think as much even for a second."

Merlin felt his smile soften as he settled himself back in his seat, hands wrapped around the warmth of his cup. Yes, he did know that. He knew it well. He and his mother had always been close, had become especially so over the past years with his father gone. Many might consider it constraining, that Merlin was perhaps tied down by their co-dependency and that he would never get the chance to seek his independence in a bout of travel like Will had when he'd first gotten out of school, or live on-campus at the university like Gwaine.

But Merlin didn't think like that. He was… if not particularly enthusiastic about his circumstances, content with it. True, he wouldn't mind travelling, or trying something knew, but he wouldn't. He would never be the sort of person to chase his dream to London like Lance had, to disappear overseas for months at a time like Will. He couldn't do that, not to his mother, even if it did sometimes seem awfully tempting.

Because that was it. That was all of Merlin's plan: to stick with his mother and do what he loved. He had enough, more than enough, and was content with his lot. He _was_. Merlin was only relieved that Hunith didn't try to push him away for his 'own good'. He knew what he wanted – or more correctly what he needed – regardless of how fantastic Lance told him the city was, or have brilliant were the parties Gwaine said he partook in living on campus, basically rolling from one to the next in a drunken stupor. Gwaine said it would be boring to be permanently on an isolated estate, that there weren't enough people to talk to or enough to do.

Merlin always had to dispute that. Not so much the boring part, for it was a little lacking in variability at times, but the talking most definitely. _He_ had enough people to talk to, even if Gwaine didn't acknowledge them as conversation partners.

"I think Will was maybe thinking of dropping by tonight if that's alright," Merlin said, picking at his breakfast once more. "Maybe staying over for a bit, too. And Gwaine sent me a message yesterday but I couldn't really work out whether he meant he was coming _home_ today or coming to _here_ today." Merlin shook his head at the memory of the garbled text. "He's unintelligible at best."

"Oh, is he moving back into town for the holidays?" Hunith asked, glancing up from where she was peering distractedly at the newspaper at her side as she finished her own breakfast. She would always insist on reading the paper rather than resorting to more technological methods of bathing in the newsfeed. "I can never keep track of that boy."

Merlin rolled his eyes in commiseration. "Yeah, well, you and me both. No one ever really knows anything about Gwaine."

"Is he still studying -?"

"Law?" Merlin nodded. "As far as I've heard he hasn't changed again, though it was last Thursday that we talked about it. He could have changed since then and I wouldn't be surprised."

"Personally, I though theatre suited him better but…"

Merlin nodded once more in fervent agreement. "I think everyone in the world thought theatre would suit Gwaine better."

"Did you ever work out why he changed?" Hunith asked, frowning slightly in a familiar bafflement that always arose when Gwaine became the topic of conversation.

Merlin shrugged. "Other than the fact that he could? Not really."

"He's always been smarter than he looks."

"That wouldn't be hard considering Gwaine looks like a dumbass."

Hunith chuckled, before muttering a heatless, "Don't swear at the dinner table."

"Yes, ma'am," Merlin replied. "It's alright if he does end up swinging by, though, isn't it?"

"Has he still got that screechy car?" Hunith asked with a slight, concerned frown. It was more rebuking of the absent Gwaine this time.

 _Yes_ , Merlin thought to himself. "I've got no idea. Maybe."

"Well," Hunith continued with a harrumph, "so long as he doesn't tear up my flowerbed again I suppose it's fine."

"I'll tell him to keep it on the driveway this time."

"Yes, please do."

Merlin was finishing the last of his toast, stacking his plate and alleviating his mother of hers, when his attention was drawn by her little snort. Glancing her way, half risen from his seat, Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"

Shaking her head, Hunith glanced up at him briefly. "Oh, nothing."

Merlin smiled, lowering the plates in his hands to the table and skirting the table. "Okay, now you've got to tell me. What is it?"

"Foolishness," Hunith only said, the use of what Merlin had long ago realised was one of her favourite words resounding with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. She gestured at the open page of the newspaper before her.

As he drew his gaze down the columns, quickly scanning the words and skating over the picture of a clutch of young men and women in somewhat compromising positions, Merlin couldn't help but snort himself. He straightened, turning back to the plates and starting towards the kitchen. "Our blessed royal family. I'm so proud."

"Just the one, I'm afraid," Hunith said, sighing with that continued wearily amused exasperation. "He seems to have been acting up even more of late."

"You think so?" Merlin asked, glancing her way once more as he stacked the cups atop the plates. "I haven't really noticed that much of a difference, to be honest."

Hunith nodded with another sigh, eyes still grazing along the open newspaper. "Really, how he turned out so raucous while Morgana and the King are entirely the opposite is a mystery to me."

"Maybe he's just a prat?" Merlin offered

"Language, Merlin," Hunith scolded half-heartedly.

"I'm not at the dining table anymore," he called over his shoulder as he made his way into the kitchen, setting about running the sink and cleaning up after breakfast. He smiled as his mother muttered something unintelligible from the other room.

Prince Arthur was a prat. Plain and simple, that was the story of it. A blond-haired, beefed up muscle-head of a prat, who breathed arrogance and superiority like most normal people did air. Merlin had never had much time for him, or for any of the Welsh royal family for that matter, but it was hard to miss when depictions of his antics sprawled across the pages of his mother's newspaper so frequently.

Arthur's comments were spoken loudly and without a filter, announcing his thoughts before any scant intelligence he might possess sought to inhibit the offenses that might spew forth. He taunted the paparazzi and offered his blatant and often-crude opinion about just about everything. He was often rude and impudent, seeming not to care for the scores of offended he left behind him.

Pendragon & Co., his father the king's company, had been Arthur's as VP since he'd turned twenty-three nearly two years ago. It was an impossibility that Merlin attributed mostly to his royal status. Apparently he'd clocked out of the army – remaining for his requisite years only – as soon as he'd been able to, jumping into the business world and leaving the military behind him. The business was a law firm, or something in shares, or… international relations, or whatever. Merlin had no idea and hardly cared.

More importantly, though, and what the media latched onto most ardently because of course they would, he was with a new partner every other night. A new, pretty, long-legged ditz who hung off his arm and looked almost identical to every other one he sought the company of. Likely at least one of the figures in the picture Merlin had just seen in the newspaper was his current arm adornment. Were VPs even allowed to make such frequent and exceptional fools of themselves? Or did that only apply to royal prats?

Merlin didn't know. He didn't really care, either. Leave the royals to themselves, he always thought, even if, as his mother had said, Morgana and the King weren't all that bad. The King might be a little old fashioned in his ways, a little unyielding in his opinions and perspectives from what little Merlin could discern, and Morgana might be the ice queen of Wales, but compared to Arthur…

Merlin didn't know. He didn't know and he didn't care, because it didn't concern him. The royal family was little more than a figurehead in most ways these days, and even if it wasn't Morgana had a steady enough head on her shoulders to make up for Arthur's incompetency. As long as Merlin could be left in his quiet town with his old estate, his closest friends and his mother, and care for the horses while he studied at university, he was content.

He was just finishing with the last of the cleaning when Hunith passed into the kitchen behind him. He turned half a glance towards her as she passed, her hand rising unconsciously to brush the back of his head in a touch that was as familiar to him as Merlin's own name. "What are you getting up to today, then?" She asked, leaning back on the counter beside him.

Merlin shrugged, turning to mimic her lean as he dried his hands on a tea towel. "In all my freedom, you mean?"

"Well, you've only got another two months," Hunith said with a smile.

Merlin shook his head with a sigh. "Why the uni people think we need nearly three months off over summer I'll never know."

"Some people like the break."

"I know. And I do too. It's just very long."

"You could go somewhere," Hunith suggested.

Merlin frowned indignantly. "Quit trying to force me to leave," he said, deliberately adding a whine into his voice. "Maybe I want to sit around all day twiddling my thumbs."

Hunith only smiled at him, raising her hand to pat the side of his head again. She was quite a bit shorter than him, barely reaching his shoulder since Merlin had reached his peak, but he suspected he would always feel like a child before her. "I just don't want you to while away your days getting bored."

"I'm not bored," Merlin protested, ignoring the touch of falsehood in the back of his mind. "I'm just… ponderous."

"Ponderous?"

"As you said, there's nothing wrong with having some time on my hands for a break," he said, ignoring the louder objection to his words that niggled in the back of his mind. "Some people enjoy that."

Hunith saw straight through him that time. She patted the side of his head a little more firmly this time. "Now that I'll never believe. You have itchy feet and itchy fingers, my boy."

"Both of which I can alleviate quite fine from right here," Merlin said stubbornly.

Hunith smile was a little sad but loving nonetheless. Then it firmed into resolution. "Just so. Fletch needs to stretch his legs today. Could you fit a run into your oh-so-schedule, do you think?"

"You think he's healed up enough?" Merlin asked.

Hunith smirked. "Aren't you supposed to be the vet student out of the both of us?"

Merlin grinned in reply. "Yeah, but a whole year of study doesn't quite put me on par with someone who's got thirty years of experience working with horses under their belt."

"Don't sell me short, Merlin, it's closer to forty," Hunith chided teasingly.

"Oh, well, my mistake."

"Yes it is." Hunith patted him once more before urging him into motion with a push to the shoulder. "Off you go then. It'll be a good idea to get him out for a bit before it warms up too much."

"I quite like the heat," Merlin said over his shoulder as he followed his mother's instruction. "Better than the cold."

"Yes, but in this heat wave we've got going, the horses don't."

"Fair enough."

"I'll be out in the greenhouse if you need me," Hunith called after him as he left.

Merlin nodded, pausing as he dug his phone from his back pocket for wave indicatively over his shoulder in turn. "Got my phone if you need me too," he called in reply. Then he hastened from the house.

Horses were his life. They were his mother's life too, really, though while Merlin had approached such a life from the perspective of making a career out of it, in veterinarian work, Hunith had always been more on the practical, caring perspective. Ever since she'd married Merlin's father, she'd all but taken over the Emerson estate and the livestock upon it. She was the one who cared for the horses they held for agistment alongside their own, the one who cared for them with her whole heart as Balinor never had. She was a boon to the family name when she'd married him, had all but taken over for the role that Balinor, in his pursuit of studying reptiles through the local university, had never fully assumed.

With Balinor gone, Hunith had simply continued her work. And she loved it. She loved the horses, just as much as Merlin did. She never begrudged the isolation she was afflicted by with only Merlin and the hired stable hands for company, the heavy work that at her age was just beginning to take its toll, the early mornings and monotony of little change in routine.

That, at least, Merlin had to respect above all else. He never had been able to quite settle with such monotony.

The estate was a sprawling building of white walls and grey-tiled roof. Multi-storied and extensive, it was far too large for just the two of them, even if Merlin did appreciate the openness and the emptiness. Hunith was always more than happy to have any of the stable hands or Merlin's friends spend the night in one of the empty bedrooms, even if that someone was Gwaine, who seemed to prefer the Emerson house more than his own, or Will, who barely said a word that wasn't a grumble about something or other.

The house itself was old and extensive, though they'd outfitted it with a flare for the comfortable, discarding the old-fashioned for vague modernity that brightened the rooms and dampened Gwaine's chiding that they should "Do something to spruce things up". The property were just as large, stretcheingin undulating hills into the distance and broken only by a winding road that lead to their gravelled driveway and the specks of their neighbour's similarly dated estates. It was isolated but picture perfect, from the greenhouses around the back of the house that Hunith meticulously maintained for herbs and flowers alike, to the stables just down the hill that between the house and the paddock.

Perfect. A little dull, perhaps, but perfect in its own way nonetheless.

Merlin stepped into his boots outside the door and trudged down the hill towards the barn. The sun was barely up, but he could already hear the whinnying chatter of the inhabitants before he unlatched the heavy double doors and heaved them open.

The scent of dusty hay, the rich odour of horse and the heady warmth of the night's stagnation met Merlin in an overwhelming wave as he stepped inside. It was dark before the touch of morning light filtered within, chasing away the shadows that clung to the stalls and the stall doors. Merlin stood still for a moment, propping his hands on his hips for a moment as a the sound of neighs and whinny's of greeting assaulted him, as multitudes of horse heads appeared over stall doors with ears pricked and turned towards him.

He paused a long pause, and then held up his hands for silence. "Alright, everyone. Quiet for a second." As if abiding by his words – actually abiding by them, which they rarely did on a communal level – the horses fell into muted clicks and nickers. "So it's going to be warm today, which means I'd prefer if everyone stuck in the shade so we don't have anyone passing out. Regular drinking, please, and if I hear of anyone mucking up then you're stuck with hay only tonight, alright? Do I make myself clear?"

Abruptly muted faces turned towards him, ears flickering and twitching attentively. No one made an objection, so Merlin finally nodded. "Alright. So, it's the paddock today, except for Fletch who's going with me for a run."

"Yes!" A cry of sharp jubilation broke through the air in a bark. "Aw, yes! I haven't been for a run in ages!"

As one, Merlin and every one of the horse's heads turned towards that of the grey gelding tooting jubilantly into the air, lip curled in delight. He tossed his head to the grumbles of those around him. "I am _so_ excited to get out. So excited, Merlin, you have _no_ idea."

Merlin grinned, shaking his head as he started into the stables. "Glad you hear you're so enthusiastic."

"No idea, Merlin, you've got _no_ idea how excited I am for this, I'm so excited…"

"Good riddance, I say," Jellybean muttered as Merlin stopped at her stall to unlatch the door. "He's been a pain in the neck since he hurt his leg."

"We'll finally get a break from his whinging," Duchess nodded from the stall at Jellybean's side.

"But that's not fair. I haven't had a proper run in ages," Yasper complained from the stall across from them.

"Hey, you're the one who always complains about carrying your little girl when she comes for a visit."

"I don't think that's the right sort of attitude towards –"

"Really, you'd think it would be best –"

"- can't complain, it smells like it'll be hot today –"

"- stay in the shade –"

"- so annoying –"

"- kick you in the face if you don't shut up –"

The exchange of horse voices passed through Merlin's ears as he worked along each of the stalls, unlatching doors, untying holsters where the few of them were looped, drawing off blankets that clients insisted their horses wear even in the summer when Merlin and Hunith had told them it was unnecessary. And they would know. Merlin especially would know.

After all, he was the one who could speak to the horses.

Yes, Gwaine might consider it quiet on the estate, might constitute the company of horses inadequate for their lack of verbal communication, but not Merlin. For him it was quite the opposite, really; horses were terrible when they were in a group, almost as bad as sheep, and rarely held their tongues. Not like Hunith's cat who generally kept quiet unless expressly spoken to, or the dogs that the hired hands tended to bring with them who, though excitable and enthusiastic to talk, always kept exchanges to a minimum when at work. More like the chickens that Merlin's mother kept out by her greenhouses, if he was to draw a comparison, though chickens tended to be a little more daft than horses. That was Merlin's opinion after twenty years of understanding the words of every animal he happened across.

It was a gift. His mother said it was a gift, had called it a blessing even when Balinor had possessed it even as his was restricted to reptiles for some reason. Merlin didn't think of it so much as a blessing, though he appreciated the fact that he had an ability that few if any others in the world possessed. It was simply something he'd always had. Something he'd grown up with, that had shaped him, that he embraced for its strangeness and the wonders it presented.

It was no surprise, at least Hunith had claimed, that Merlin had decided to become a vet. Talking to animals was a work in progress, with most initially hesitant to speak and ill-equipped at conversation when he first met them only to grow more capable the longer he spent in their company. The horses, though – Merlin had spent a lot of time with the horses. He knew them, loved them, and in turn they knew and respected him, spoke to him as though he was one of their own. It was that reason primarily that Merlin attributed to his apparent 'success' with handling them, a success that Hunith had always been proud of and the stable hands a little awed by.

They, at least, didn't know. The ability to talk to animals wasn't one that Merlin felt most would think him sane for claiming to possess. The hands probably already thought him crazy for how much he 'appeared' to talk to them.

But regardless, they always spoke of how the horses were so much easier to handle when Merlin was around. How it was always unfortunate on the days he was at the university because they were more temperamental, or didn't do as told, or couldn't be trusted with such liberties that Merlin afforded them. There was a reason for that, of course; Merlin had in the past had many a word with the horses, both as a group and individually. When he gave an order or direction, it was followed, because the horses understood the consequences of disobeying such instructions. It was as simple as that.

Still, it wasn't as though Merlin could tell the hands that, exactly.

In some ways it felt like cheating. Merlin passed down the stalls, unlocking and untying, and the horses passed him with a head butted to his shoulder or a snuffle of breath in his ear, and each agreed that yes, they would stay in the large paddock, yes, they would remain in the shade in the middle of the day and yes, they would ensure that they and everyone else took themselves to the dam at least once for a drink. Merlin didn't even need to walk them down to the paddock; he'd left the gate open the night before so they could take themselves, and would lock it back up for perfunctory reasons when he and Fletch went for their run. It wasn't needed, and Merlin trusted the horses enough – or their bellies and the hopes of grain that night – that he didn't feel it necessary, but the hands were always a little edgy if he left it open.

Little Tilly, the last to be loosed from her stall, chortled and nibbled at Merlin's shirt as he passed before trotting after her fellows from the stables. Merlin turned towards Fletch where he stood in respectful wait, head still over his stall door and ears alongside his snout towards Merlin. He'd quieted down in his excitement a little, though still shifted from foot to foot in anticipation. Merlin could almost hear the eagerness vibrating through him.

Raising a hand to Fletch's snout, Merlin approaching him and met his eyes pointedly. "Now, I know you're excited –"

"So excited, Merlin, I'm so excited," Fletch blurted out, unable to contain himself.

Merlin bit back a grin at the apologetic ducking of the horse's head a moment later. "I know. So tell me honestly, Fletch: do we need to use reins today?"

Fletch snorted, shaking his head in denial. The gesture was one that had been picked up by many of the horses from Merlin; shaking one's head was not naturally indicative of dissent amongst horses but they seemed to assimilate behaviours like that readily enough. "No, Merlin, I swear I don't need it."

"Fletch."

"I don't! I'll be good, I don't need a bit." He paused, and if a horse could pout objectionably Merlin suspected he would be doing so. "I can follow directions."

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "The very reason you hurt your leg in the first place was because you didn't listen to me when I told you not to jump the fence."

Fletch snorted, spraying Merlin's shoulder. "I wasn't told not to jump it."

"You were."

"No I wasn't."

"I'm sure Polly would have told you not to try that jump," Merlin reasoned. "It's way too high for you."

"She didn't."

Merlin sighed, giving up the argument for lost. Young animals, whether horse, human or otherwise, were notoriously selectively forgetful. Fletch was barely past his colt years; at his age it was practically uncontrollable.

"Well, regardless," Merlin said, flicking Fletch's snout and eliciting another snort. "We have an agreement, yeah? No acting up."

Fletch tossed his head in a human-like nod. "Yes. No acting up."

"Or the reins go on."

"Or the reins go on."

"And you're stuck with hay and no running for the rest of the week."

Fletch did his pout-equivalent once more before bowing his head. "Yes, Merlin."

Merlin grinned, rubbing at the paler patch of fur in the centre of the grey's forehead. "Great. Then lets get a wriggle on."

Fletch's enthusiasm returned double time at that and he was dancing almost too excitedly for Merlin to flip a saddle blanket over his back and coax him out of the stall. Following in Merlin's wake, he kept up a constant chatter as he pranced in his shadow from the stables, leaving the semi-darkness and musty aroma behind them.

"… can show you how much better it is and it's much, much better now, Merlin, much better. We can go for a very long run today, I'm sure, we can run very far, all the way past the dam and the gloomy trees. I bet I could even jump that fence today if I –"

"No jumping," Merlin interrupted him as they started away from the stable into the gradually brightening morning. It had been far from cold the previous night, almost too warm, and that day was shaping up to be dry and stinking hot just as yesterday had been. He glanced over at Fletch at his shoulder as he snorted in disgruntlement. "Seriously, Fletch. No jumping. Not the fence that beat you or anything else for a while, okay?"

"It didn't beat me," Fletch muttered, dropping his head a little and ears folding backwards. "I could've made it if I'd –"

He cut off as Merlin gave the side of his neck a gentle smack. "Fletch. No jumping."

The gelding exhaled in what could have been a sigh. "Alright. No jumping."

Merlin stroked at Fletch's forehead once more before urging him to pause at the top of the descent towards the paddock. Grasping the dark tuft of mane in one hand, his skipped in a jump, grasped Fletch's withers and slung his leg over his back. Fletch, for once, actually paused respectfully in his excited dancing to allow him to gain his seat. The moment Merlin gripped his planks with his thighs, however, he was off.

The Emerson acreage was wide and vast, undulating in waves of untouched greenery and only distantly outlined by the horse-named 'gloomy trees' towards the south. Otherwise, it was open, it was inviting, and it simply tempted any onlookers to throw themselves down the nearest hill in a flight of delight and tumble head over heels in a self-imposed slide. Merlin loved it. He'd always loved it.

The primary paddock, the large paddock, was positioned at a diagonal down the slope, and though Fletch was already dancing at a trot bordering on a canter, Merlin urged him in the wake of Tilly as she took up the rear of the trickling stream of horses passing through the gate. Fletch clattered with a whinny that was less tauntingly of his fellows and more delighted when Merlin swung by the gate shut, latching it before redirecting the gelding along the perimeter. The grumbles of the horses within, objecting to the 'unfairness' of his liberty, followed them as they passed, the squeals of the colt Bubbles following them as they broke into a trot once more. Not for long, however; Fletch was young, could still appreciate the camaraderie of younger horses, but he wasn't holding back that day. They were barely out of sight of the gate when he flung himself into a rapid, lurching canter once more.

Merlin let him. In the relative coolness of the morning – relative only, and foreboding in its dryness of the day's heat to come – it was a relief to be in the open. The sky was a clear, white-blue, absented of even the barest touch of fuzzy clouds, and in the silence of the outdoors, with only the distant echo of horse voices to compete with the twitters of morning birdsong, it was calming. Beautiful. Freeing. Gwaine could complain about isolation all he liked, but for Merlin, it was these moments as much as anything that he lived for.

He was a good rider. A great rider, even, Merlin knew. He'd practically learned to ride before he could walk, and maintaining a seat with or without a saddle was second nature to him. Merlin curled his fingers in Fletch's dark mane, seating himself forwards and rolling with the movement of the horse beneath him as he picked up speed in his easy, loping canter. The feeling was calming, almost relaxing, the whip of air across his cheeks more of a caress.

Merlin let Fletch go. He wouldn't allow him to push himself unduly, not with his injury so freshly healed, but he gave him his head. As Fletch took the freedom afforded, Merlin relaxed into the easy gait, keeping an eye out, a feel out, for any quirks and twitches, any indications of discomfort as much as he did on their path to avoid potential pitfalls.

Descending the hill, Fletch hitched his pace up in speed as they took a turn for the rise, falling into a near gallop. Merlin leaned forwards, legs tightening to keep his seat and grasping fingers into his mane as he raised his voice to be heard in Fletch's ear. "No galloping, Fletch."

Fletch's ears twitched backwards. "But –"

"No. You'll hurt yourself again if you try too soon."

Fletch snorted, telling Merlin exactly what he thought of that suspicion, but he checked his stride and withheld. Merlin nodded his approval, even though he knew the horse would barely have noticed as much. "We'll head out over to the dam, yeah? Get a swim in first thing?"

Immediately, Fletch's disgruntlement was shed and he tossed his head in eagerness. And yes, while he did pick up his speed again just a little, Merlin let him. Just a little. They tore up the hill, crested, and descended the next, racing like a plunging falcon.

It wasn't a far ride to the dam. About halfway across the acreage, the little water body was barely more than a pond, and at fifty meters across at the tail end of summer was barely larger than that in the large paddock, if slightly deeper. Fletch was breathing heavily when they drew alongside it, however, skirting the sparse cover of trees at a reduced trot towards the little jetty projecting half of the radius. When he stopped, Merlin had just enough time to slip from his back, to drag the saddle cloth after him, before Fletch was shaking himself as though ridding his flanks of the streaks of sweat and charging into the water.

Merlin stood and watched him for a moment, a smile settling on his lips. He could watch horses all day, from their muted quietness to their prancing and leaping enthusiasm. In respect to the horses agisted at their estate, it was more often the latter. It was in moments like these, however, with utter bliss radiating from the half submerged horse as he sloughed through the water and created a whirlpool of the previously tranquil surface, that Merlin liked the most. Fletch was truly satisfied with his lot in life and if a horse could grin like a human, Merlin was sure he would be. He saw it anyway, however. His gift afforded him that understanding at least.

It was warm and getting warmer as the sun gradually climbed into the sky. Merlin was glad in that moment that he'd dressed lightly, in t-shirt and thin jeans stuffed into boots that he slipped off to pad barefoot along the jetty. The old, unpolished wood at least was cool upon his skin, and Merlin took himself to the very end, dropped to sitting and, dangling his toes into the water over the end, lay back.

This. This was what Gwaine couldn't comprehend. And yes, sometimes the quietness, the slowness, that persistent constancy, could get a little tiresome, but for now it was enough.

Merlin had closed his eyes, bathing in the gradually rising warmth of the sun as tentative rays grazed his skin, when his phone buzzed. Merlin ignored it for a moment, ignoring the intrusion into his quietness and peace, until it buzzed again. Then again. And again. With a sigh, he awkwardly tugged it from his pocket, raising it overhead with a frowning squint. Really, he should change the spangled, reflective gold of the case that was so abusive to the eye even when not viciously reflecting as such. He only used it because he'd gotten it his last birthday as a joke from…

Gwaine. Of course it was Gwaine, in four texts of raid succession. Merlin was surprised only that he was up so early.

 _I'm just packing up from last night now._

 _It was fantastic. You should have been there._

 _No wait, you'd just have been a wet blanket._

 _Party pooper._

Merlin snorted. Shaking his head, he tapped a reply.

 _I'm not a wet blanket. I just have a healthy respect for sleep and would prefer not to wake up with a splitting headache and covered in my own vomit._

Gwaine's reply followed a moment later.

 _Exactly. Wet blanket. Besides, exposure to multiple strains of vomit is good for the immune system._

Shaking his head, cringing at the mental image Gwaine painted – he'd always been brutally accurate with such – Merlin replied with: _I take it you're intending to crash at mine tonight?_

 _You took it correctly_ , Gwaine replied.

 _What time will you get in?_ Merlin asked.

 _Dunno. I'll keep you posted. Is Will coming?_

Merlin took a moment to check the previous messages to Will before shooting a reply back. _I'll have to double check_.

 _Yeah, you do that. Let me know. I love that guy_.

Snorting, Merlin flicked a brief message to Will. _You coming tonight?_

The reply wasn't long in coming, which wasn't unexpected. Will was an early riser as Merlin was, a product of growing up on his own parents' farm, but even had he been distracted by work or leisure he would have buzzed a reply instantly. Will practically lived with his phone in hand. _Depends._

 _On?_

 _On whether Gwaine's coming_.

 _He said he is_.

A pause. And then a buzz of, _Fuck no, I can't stand that guy._

Merlin snickered to himself. Gwaine and Will had something of a love-hate relationship: Gwaine loved to tease the shit out of Will and Will claimed he hated him doing so. They'd descended into fisticuffs on more than one occasion in the past and actually seemed to enjoy the antagonism between the two of them. Merlin was convinced that Gwaine baited Will intentionally for just that reason. And yet, despite how Will complained, how he never said a good word about Gwaine, Merlin knew he didn't dislike him. Will rarely had a good word to say about anyone, really.

"That is an appalling colour for a phone," a voice interrupted his thoughts.

Starting, Merlin sat up so quickly that he fumbled his phone. Fumbled, juggled and dropped it. It clattered onto the jetty beside him, bounced through the cracks between the planks, and splashed into the water with a hollow _plop!_ It disappeared into the gloomy depths in an instant.

Staring down at the ripples spreading from point of submersion, Merlin felt a groan building in his chest. It slipped from his lips n something of a sob as he smacked his forehead with a hand. "Shit. You've got to be kidding me." Of course he would drop it; Merlin was a chronic abuser of phones so it wasn't surprising that he do so in the least. But why the hell did it have to happen right when said phone would disappear into the unattainable depths?

With another groan, Merlin slumped backwards onto the jetty, smacking his back onto the wood and kicking a foot so it swiped in a spray across the top of the pond. Goddammit. He'd have to get another one. Merlin had broken his phone enough times that he knew regularly backed it up but… goddammit, it was just so annoying. He closed his eyes briefly and raised a hand to his head once more.

Only to recall the voice that had spoken. He cracked an eye open and glanced sideways towards the direction it had come from. A moment later and he was propping himself up on his elbows and turning towards the little frog that perched half a jetty away. A common brown frog, he registered for its speckled colouration, the streaks of darker brown around its eyes. It was staring with something like disdain colouring its blank, amphibious expression. Merlin wouldn't have been able to explain to anyone had they asked how he perceived such disdain but he registered it anyway. He'd always been able to pick up cues like that.

"Hello," Merlin said, by way of greeting. It was always best to appear friendly to strangers, even when they were animals.

If possible, the frog grew only more disdainful. Its throat expanded slightly in a faint croak, shifting so that the sun scattered in a reflection off its moist skin. "Great," it said in a grumble. "I've found a lunatic who talks to himself."

"Well, I was under the impression I was talking to you," Merlin said, a little reprovingly, "but if you weren't inclined to converse you shouldn't initiate conversation in the first place."

The frog flinched, starting backwards in an awkward, staggering hop. It blinked wide eyes as it replied. "Wait. You can understand me?"

Merlin frowned. "You didn't know that? Where are you from that you come onto the estate and don't know that?" Every animal upon the acreage knew about Merlin, from the smallest mouse to the largest horse. It was just common knowledge that seemed to be acquired as soon as any animal came within range.

In an instant the frog had steadied itself and was leaping forward in a disjointed lope towards Merlin. It paused at his side, staring up at him unblinkingly. "You. You're Emrys?"

Merlin's frown deepened. "No… I'm Merlin. Merlin Emerson."

"I meant –"

"I guess some ancestor could have had the name Emrys and that's where my surname came from," he said, tilting his head with a thoughtful frown.

"You're the one who –"

"But as far as I know it's been that way for generations. I have a book of great-great-grandparents and such upstairs at home."

"Could you shut up for a second and let me speak?" The frog interrupted him. If it was possible for a creature to snap in a grumbling croak, it was certainly managing.

Merlin turned his frown back towards him. "You," he said slowly, "would have to be one of the rudest amphibians I've ever met."

The frog grumbled another croak, shifting in its squat. "Oh, and I'm sure you've met your fair share of toads?"

"Frogs," Merlin corrected.

"What?"

"You're a frog. A lot of people don't know the difference but mostly it comes down to your dependence on a water source and your body shape. You," he pointed at the frog, "are a frog. Sorry to burst your bubble if you'd built yourself one but…"

"What the hell are you going on about?" The frog grunted, peering up at Merlin warily.

"I mean, you would know that, I'd expect," Merlin continued. "On an innate level at least. Sure, most animals aren't verified academics or anything so don't understand the finer points of comparative biology but –"

"Could you just _shut up_ for a second," the frog snapped, interrupting him once more.

Merlin paused, raising an eyebrow. "You really are quite rude, you know."

"So I've been told."

"Have you? And you don't think you should do something to remedy that fact?"

The frog gave another grunt. "It's not my problem who gets offended by it."

"Well, it would be if you come across a bigger frog-eating frog," Merlin reasoned. He'd learned enough about animals from his gift to understand that, at least between closely-related species, communication was possible. Hunith's cat couldn't speak to the horses, but something like two species of frog with one as a potential predator… And the common brown from _was_ quite small. It should learn from Merlin's cautioning. It seemed intelligent enough, or at least able to communicate with him readily, which was something exceptional in and of itself. Usually it took some time before such coherency could be attained.

Huh. Maybe he was exceptional? Or maybe he'd been talking to other frogs that Merlin had –

"Fuck. Yeah, fuck, this is…"

The frog's grumbling croak was spoken more to itself than in conversation, drew Merlin's attention to it once more. It was shifting uneasily between its feet, as though unnerved by Merlin's words. Which, he reasoned, it very well could be. Maybe he shouldn't have said that. Some animals could get awfully – and understandably – touchy when predators were mentioned. "Sorry. Um…" Merlin paused. "You know, you swear a lot for a frog."

"There's a reason for that," the frog retorted, shifting slightly to stare up at him once more. "Blame my sister. Everyone thinks she's an angel but she taught me everything I know."

Merlin smirked. "I'll bear that in mind if I ever see her."

"Oh, you will," the frog said. "I'll make sure of it because you're going to help me."

Merlin blinked down at the little creature watching at him so intently. Really, some animals could just be so presumptuous. Usually such presumption dampened slightly when Merlin spoke to them for a time, but in this instance the frog appeared to have had its nose pushed effectively out of joint.

Well, Merlin didn't really mind. He didn't have a problem with objectionable conversationalists all that much, especially when they could fit in the palm of his hand. "Alright. Sure. Whatever. What do you need?"

"For you to help me turn back into a human."

There was a brief pause in which Merlin stared at the frog. Brief, until he rolled his eyes with a grin. "Yeah. Sure thing. That's very original."

"I – what?"

Merlin propped his hands behind him and leaned backwards, tipping his face upwards towards the sun. Hm, it was getting warm already and the sun hadn't even fully risen. "Do you honestly think you're the first frog who's come at me with that? Really?"

"I don't… what?"

"Seriously, Froggy, the Frog Prince is a story that's been around forever. You're going to have to come up with something more original than that."

The frog was silent for a moment, for a long moment that stretched for so long that Merlin actually turned his glance back down towards it. If a frog could appear speechless… "Got nothing?" He asked.

That seemed to shake the frog out of its stupor. Its grumble had a touch of anger to it when it spoke. "As it just so happens, I _am_ a prince."

"Uh-huh."

"I _am_. And I was told that if I found Emrys then he would help me turn back into a human again."

"Right."

"Don't do that," the frog croaked sharply. "It's condescending and infuriating. I just want you to –"

"'Love me and accept me as your companion and playmate'," Merlin finished, tipping his head as he stared down at the frog.

The frog blinked. "What?"

"That's the line from the tale that most of the frogs who come at me with that story have. Seriously, for a frog that seems pretty intelligent, you certainly haven't done your research very well."

The frog stared up at Merlin for a long moment before suddenly, in an utterly comical display, it stamped its front foot. "This isn't a joke! I _am_ a prince, and I _am_ a human, and I was _told_ that you could help me."

Merlin stared down at it, amused. Anger wasn't the usual tactic the frogs who'd approached him as such had taken. Usually it was flattery or self-pity, wistfulness and shame. All a fallacy, of course, but such an attempt seemed to be an instinctive, the story innately known in so many frogs that Merlin had almost come to expect it. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the common brown beside him; was it angry that its supposed 'novel idea' had already been used? Overused, even?

"Sorry," Merlin said, "but I don't think I could help you. I'm no gullible princess or whatever that can kiss you 'back into a human'."

The frog burped a croak in frustration. "That's not what I meant," it said, and it sounded almost desperate now. "She said – she said that you –"

Merlin smacked him. In a single swipe, as fast as he could blink, he smacked the frog from its seat beside him and flung it from the end of the jetty. A startled croak followed its passage as it landed with a _plop!_ reminiscent of that Merlin's phone had made and disappeared beneath the surface.

Just in time, too. An instant later, Kilgharrah struck at the place the frog had been.

Merlin turned a frown of disappointment upon the snake as it righted itself, serpentine length curling into coils. He hissed as he folded himself backwards into a nest before lifting his gaze up to Merlin. "Was that necessary?" Kilgharrah murmured, hum soft and sibilant.

Merlin reached a hand towards the grass snake, flicking his snout and eliciting an objectionable flick of his tongue. "What have I told you about eating people I'm talking to?"

Kilgharrah hummed. "Yes, but that frog was clearly irritating. I may not be capable of understanding its slimy tongue but as much was evident. I would not have made for it otherwise."

"Yeah. I'm sure," Merlin muttered, shaking his head.

"I understand common courtesy. Consuming an amiable conversation partner falls outside of the bounds of such."

Merlin pursed his lips, frown deepening briefly before easing. His turned his gaze briefly towards the point he'd flung the frog to see the last of the ripples dying. Maybe he had hit it a little hard, but it was that or risk becoming a meal for a self-satisfied snake. Kilgharrah usually didn't eat things Merlin was talking to, it was true – at least he hadn't in years – but he was a stickler for courtesy. Or at least for his own particular brand of courtesy.

Merlin thought he saw it. He _thought_ he saw the frog appear briefly, but if it did it was smart enough to duck beneath the surface and out of Kilgharrah's sight. The snake wasn't averse to descending into the water to chase his prey, particularly if he'd developed a vendetta against them.

Shifting his gaze back down to Kilgharrah, Merlin rested a hand upon the back of his neck. Kilgharrah immediately clung to the warmth of his body, twining around his hand and fingers in a way that wasn't so much affectionate as utilitarian. "What are you doing out so early?" Merlin asked.

"Chasing unwanted conversationalists from the ears of my personal heat-provider," Kilgharrah replied, coiling up Merlin's arm.

Merling laughed, good-humour already returning. "Oh, well then, it's much appreciated them."

"You should appreciate my efforts," Kilgharrah murmured, rising up to his shoulder. He was going for his neck, Merlin knew, as the greatest source of heat, and though many might be uneasy for it Merlin didn't object to the ascent. "I make particular consideration for you, understand."

"I understand entirely," Merlin replied, smiling down at the snake as he wove his head into Merlin's field of vision with a flick of his tongue. "Just like I know your real reason. You want a lift back up to the stables to chase rats, don't you?"

"You understand me just well enough," Kilgharrah replied, not even attempting to refute the claim. "And should you happen upon a journey back to the water's edge in the following days, I will require return passage as well." His tongue flicked out once more, brown-rimmed black eyes meeting Merlin's. "It is but an unfortunate coincidence that the best basking and foraging sites upon your acreage are such a distance from one another."

Merlin frowned at him pointedly. "Surely you understand I might have mixed feelings about bringing to up to the house to hunt rats. They're really smart, you know, and quite friendly when they're not scared shitless."

"The stable hands would set out traps for them anyway," Kilgharrah countered.

"Hm," Merlin hummed. That at least was true. With a sigh, he nodded. "I guess. Could you just do me a solid and try and go for, I don't know, the dying ones or something?" He clambered to his feet, taking Kilgharrah with him.

"Your demands are so unnecessary," Kilgharrah replied. "But of course I will. They are the slowest and easiest to catch."

Merlin had to concede that point. He wasn't one to stand in the way of the natural order of things, even if it did leave him a little nauseous in the stomach. He supposed Kilgharrah could be thanked for that much.

Turning from the jetty, Merlin raised a hand towards Fletch splashing across the other side of the dam in a call to attention. "Fletch! We're leaving now!" The horse whinnied his acknowledgement in reply.

Trudging up the jetty – the wood had warmed a little now – Merlin spared only a brief backwards glance for the water beneath that had been the point he'd last seen his phone. Frustrating. So annoying, and he only had himself to blame. With a sigh, he resigned himself to the reality that he would need to get a new one. Even if he did wade into the water to retrieve it rather than waiting for the water levels to drop a little further, it would be damaged beyond use anyway.

He set about skirting the dam towards Fletch, the horse trotting back to meet him and accepting the proffered saddle cloth without complaint. Merlin didn't consider the angrily proactive frog after that. It wasn't anything particularly noteworthy, anyway. Such was actually relatively normal in his day, even if those he conversed with weren't usually so temperamental.

Merlin had to wonder at what kind of a person he was that he considered that normal.


	2. Chapter 2 - Hatching

A/N: Okay, I just have to say this because I love you: thank you **mersan123** for your lovely review of the first chapter. It's so nice to see you again - you're such a considerate reader! - and I hope you like the story :)

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Hatching**

Merlin was woken quite suddenly and in an unfavourable but not entirely unfamiliar manner.

His breath gushed from his lungs as a heavy weight crashed upon him, was physically crushed by that weight, and when his eyes sprung open it was to see barely perceivable darkness before a pillow descended over his head. His sharp shout was cut of instantly into a muffle.

"Bastard, learn to pick up your bloody phone!"

The sound of Gwaine's voice was muffled through the pillow. Merlin struggled beneath him, batting blindly at the hands that attempted to smother him and wriggling beneath him as Gwaine straddled his torso. It ensued only briefly, however, only long enough for Gwaine to mutter off another string of curses and objections as to Merlin's 'laxness' as a friend, before the pillow was removed and Merlin could breath uninhibited once more.

He panted as he peered up into his friend's face, blinking aside his sleepy grogginess to pin him with a glare. "Gwaine, what the actual fuck?"

Gwaine's wide, white grin was visible through the darkness, entirely bereft of the anger that his words would otherwise suggest he held. He sat back heavily on his haunches – upon Merlin and thus crushed Merlin's breath from him once more – and reached a hand up to poke at the middle of Merlin's forehead. "You deserved it."

"Do you have any idea what the time is?" Merlin shifted beneath Gwaine, wriggling once more to dislodge him, but Gwaine was like an immoveable pillar; if he didn't want to be budged then he wouldn't be.

Gwaine shrugged. "About four in the morning, I think."

"And why the hell would you wake me up at four in the morning?" Merlin asked, slumping back onto his bed and raising a hand to rub at his forehead. "Most people sleep at that time."

"Well, you wouldn't answer my calls, so I had to walk here. You deserve some punishment for putting me out."

Merlin paused in his rubbing, turning a frown up at his friend. "What, you walked here from town."

"Yeah," Gwaine said, indignation touching his voice. "I just got in at, like, ten last night and tried to call you to come pick me up –"

"Why the bloody hell did you get in at ten o'clock at night? I thought you were leaving uni yesterday morning?"

Gwaine waved a disregarding hand at him. "Took longer than I expected."

Merlin snorted in a laugh. "You mean you got distracted by, I don't know, jumping off a cliff or something?"

"That was one time, Merls, and it was into water so it's hardly as bad as you make it sound."

Sighing, Merlin propped himself up on his elbows, dislodging Gwaine in his seat enough that he actually had the decency to roll onto the mattress instead. Reaching a hand towards his nightstand, Merlin fumbled at the switch and flooded his bedroom with light. He rubbed a hand at his eyes, ridding them of the last of their blurriness, and squinted towards Gwaine where he sat at his side, illuminated by the sudden brightness once more. "Wait, why did I have to come and pick you up?"

"'Cause I lent my car to Pell," Gwaine replied easily as he shifted around in his seat and rearranged the thin sheets around him. He was like a dog building his bed, as much for his scruffiness as anything. The impression was only enhanced by the dark stubble painting his jaw.

"Doesn't Pellinor have his own car?"

"Yeah, but it's a shitbox and he had to drive all the way to Essex. So I lent him mine instead."

"Oh, out of the goodness of your heart," Merlin said with a roll of his eyes. He wasn't feeling in a particularly congratulatory mood after his rude awakening. "So now you can get your poor, long-suffering friends to drive you around."

Gwaine flashed his bright grin, bright even in the relative lightness from the lamp. "You bet. What are friends for?" Then his smile slipped into an objectionable pout. "Or at least they _are_ except that some friends in particular don't come to the party."

"You tried to call me at ten last night to pick you up from…?"

"Julie's pub," Gwaine supplied. "And yeah. But you ignored me!"

Choosing to overlook the presumption of Gwaine's request, Merlin sighed and slumped back into his pillows once more. "I lost my phone."

"Bollocks," Gwaine said instantly. "You broke it again, didn't you?"

"I love that you don't even question my excuse."

"That's because it's such a frequent excuse proved true that it's absolutely likely."

"Gee, thanks for that vote of confidence. But no, I didn't break it. I dropped it in the dam."

Gwaine loosed a bark of laughter. "Bloody hell, Merls, seriously?"

Merlin shot him a frown. "Hey, it wasn't my fault. I was startled by a frog."

Gwaine only laughed once more. "Oh, those terrifying frogs."

"It wasn't terrifying. Just a bit of a pain in the arse. You should've heard it, Gwaine; it almost would have rivalled you for presumptuousness, making demands and all that."

"You'll have to introduce us some time," Gwaine said with a nod and a smirk.

"Oh gladly," Merlin replied, sighing. "You two could have a competition. Provided, of course, that it hasn't been eaten by something already."

Gwaine only hummed in amusement before keeling over to slump into a recline beside Merlin, stretching along the length of his bed. He didn't ridicule Merlin's words, and though he might find them humorous he didn't believe it all a joke either. Merlin knew that for a fact. Gwaine was one of only a few people who knew of his ability to speak to animals, his mother and Will being another two and Lance a third. In Gwaine's case, however, he hadn't been expressly told as had Will and Lance. Most people considered that because Gwaine was loud and joking, blunt and often forcibly demanding of attention when he wasn't already the centre of it, that he was stupid. Those people would be wrong. Gwaine was smart, _very_ smart, and in the years since Merlin had first met him in when he'd transferred to his school in senior years he'd reached the conclusion that his friend was also very observant. He was blond in all but the colour of his hair but that much was true. At times a big mouth and keen observation skills weren't a good combination, but at least in regard to Merlin's gift he'd remained unexpectedly and blessedly close-lipped.

Merlin loved Gwaine. He was the sort of person that was practically impossible not to love, but he'd genuinely cared for him for years now, even after they'd broken up after dating for barely six months. Gwaine was just like that; Merlin doubted he had an ex that he wasn't on amicable terms with. He was easy-going and friendly, always ready with a smile and a bad joke, laughed like a barking dog in a way that seemed to induce a similar response from those around him, and lived in the moment. It said something of him that his current degree was the third he'd chosen in as many years, switching back and forth multiple times between theatre, law and exercise science. How those three were in any way related Merlin didn't know, even if he could strangely see Gwaine pursuing each path with equal likelihood.

Alongside Will and Lance, Gwaine was Merlin's best friend. Unfortunately, that friendship also entailed putting up with abrupt intrusions with the pre-dawn that hadn't even managed to peek a feeble light around the trimmings of Merlin's curtains.

Closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead once more, Merlin sighed. "Did you wake up the whole house when you got here?"

"The whole house?" Gwaine said with a snort as he shifted himself to lie alongside Merlin. "What, all of you and your mum?"

"Will's here too."

"He is? _Yes!_ I haven't seen that guy in ages. I could use some healthy banter."

"You mean taking the piss out of him," Merlin corrected with a sidelong glance. Gwaine only smirked, which was as good of a reply as any. "He'll tear you in half one day, and it'll be only your fault."

"Oh, come on, he loves it as much as I do."

"He really, really doesn't."

"Yes he does."

"Actually, I have it on good authority that he doesn't."

Gwaine chuckled, but even as he did Merlin saw his eyes slip shut. Gwaine was like that – he could go from being the life of the party to clocking out in a second. "You don't mind if I just commandeer your bed here, do you?" He asked, eyes still closed.

"Commandeer? I don't think you're using that term correctly if you're asking to share."

"Would you rather I kick you out and make it more accurate?"

"Please don't."

"Then don't complain."

Merlin sighed. Only Gwaine could make stealing half of someone's bed seem like leniency on his part. Merlin didn't mind, however. Gwaine was a pain in the arse, talked a million miles and hour and was generally an exhausting person to be around, but he was fantastic. Besides, like a switch he was out in a moment and Merlin was left in relative peace, staring sidelong at his friend as his breathing eased and his soft snores flooded the room.

Merlin didn't go back to sleep. Four o'clock was a little early for his usual awakening, but not by much. He and his mother were usually up and about before six most days, so instead of battling with the resistant desire to sleep Merlin climbed from bed and settled himself for an early morning shower. By the time the sun had rolled on out, he was in the kitchen and cooking up stacks of steaming American pancakes that were likely what drew Will from his own slumber. That or the fact that, growing up on his own parent's estate and assigned the duty to milk their half-dozen cows at the crack of dawn, he too had been instilled with the early-rising inclination.

Will had never endured those early mornings well, however. Merlin glanced over his shoulder at the sound of his stumbling entrance, as he nearly crashed into the kitchen doorway before lurching forwards to slump alongside Merlin against the counter. He rubbed a hand through his dirty blond hair before raising both hands to his face to scrub the heels of his palms into his eyes. Merlin was silent, allowing him his own time to awaken properly and continued with his baking.

"Was it just a dream or were you invaded by a burglar last night?" Will finally asked, voice still a little hoarse with sleep.

Merlin turned from the stovetop, a stack of pancakes in hand, and held them out to his friend. Will accepted them with an unintelligible murmur that Merlin took to be gratitude. "Maybe," he replied. "That or it could have just been Gwaine."

Will paused in the act of juggling butter and syrup scrounged from the fridge alongside his plate and turned narrowed eyes towards Merlin. "Are you fucking serious?"

"About what?"

"Why the fuck did he crash into your place at the arse-crack of dawn?"

Merlin grinned, turning back to the stove. "I think his explanation was that he had to walk the whole way from town because he didn't have a car."

Will was staring, still frowning, when Merlin glanced back over his shoulder towards. "What happened to his car?"

"He lent it to Pellinor, apparently."

"Why would he do that?"

Merlin shrugged. "'Cause he's a ridiculously altruistic kind of person?"

"Yeah, so altruistic that he lands the chauffeuring duties onto his friends instead because of it."

Merlin could only silently agree to that, nodding with a small smile as he picked up his own pancakes and followed Will into the dining room. Will was still muttering under his breath when they seated themselves. "So he walked the whole way here?"

"Apparently," Merlin said, accepting the syrup Will offered him.

"Why didn't he just call you?"

"My phone died, remember?"

"Oh, right. You mean you lost it."

"Same thing."

"Then why didn't he call me?" Will asked, though his face visibly twitched as though the mere thought horrified him.

Merlin shrugged. "This is Gwaine we're talking about. He probably just didn't think about it."

Will rolled his eyes as he stuffed what looked to be a whole pancake into his mouth. "You know, I don't believe you when you say he's really smart. I'm convinced he's a fucking idiot."

"Language, William," Hunith said as she drifted into the room carrying the laden plate that Merlin had left for her. She passed behind him with a brush of fingers across the back of his head. "Thank you for the breakfast, sweetheart."

"Your welcome," Merlin replied just as Will muttered a perfunctory "Sorry, Hunith".

They'd cleared up from breakfast and Merlin and Will had already made their way down to the stables, chatting idly as they slowly – far slower than Merlin had the previous day – loosed the horses from their stalls by the time Gwaine appeared. He was still yawning widely, had a streak of breakfast syrup on his chin and was still a mess dressed in the crinkled jeans and stained, unnecessarily warm jacket that he'd arrived in the previous night. But as stepped through the stable door and approached Merlin and Will it was with a broad grin that vanquished the last of his sleepiness. "Morning, ladies. How are we this fine day?"

"Speak for yourself, Sleeping Beauty," Merlin replied with a smile in reply.

"Much less well now you've arrived," Will added with a roll of his eyes, deliberately concentrating on unlocking Stampede from his stall.

He gave an indignant grunt as Gwaine stepped to his side and slung an arm around his shoulders, jostling him enough that Merlin could swear Will's teeth rattled. "Aw, did you miss me, Willy? Been a while since you've seen my handsome face."

"Dear God, if you call me Willy one more time," Will said, pinning Gwaine with a glare. Merlin knew he was all bark and no bite; Gwaine had been calling Will Willy to his face for years now. Though he might posture and preach, profess his disgruntlement for Gwaine's company, Merlin had known Will for as long as he could remember and knew better. Will was simply afflicted with the urge to maintain his disgruntlement rather than caving to Gwaine's overt friendliness. Will had always been stubborn and strangely reserved that way, at least when it came to personal friends.

"You love it," Gwaine said with another flash of his grin. He jostled Will once more as he cursed beneath his breath before reaching over to unlatch Tyson's stall and urging the horse out. He half-turned towards Merlin as he did. "We going for a ride, yeah? I haven't ridden in ages. Or at least not a horse." He winked suggestively at Merlin.

Merlin laughed, smirking as Will clicked his tongue and dodged from beneath Gwaine's arm to move on to the next stall. "Your crude sense of humour is shameful, Gwaine," Will grunted.

"You love it," Gwaine repeated.

"I don't."

"Yeah you do."

"No, I really don't."

"Yeah, sure," Merlin said, ignoring the banter in favour of answering Gwaine's question. "If you'd like. Before it gets too hot, though."

"It's a fucking heat wave at the moment, am I right?" Gwaine said, leaning against the edge of a stall and idly running his hand down Blitz's back as the gelding clopped past him out of the stable. "That's climate change for you."

"Yes, thank you for the meteorological lesson," Will said.

"Hey, I'm just speaking the truth," Gwaine asked, eyebrows rising indignantly.

"The truth as you see it, maybe."

"You don't agree with the climate change experts, Will? This is new."

"I didn't say that," Will replied, pointedly turning away from Gwaine. "I just don't agree with you."

"Even if I'm right?"

"You're never right."

"Ah, but that's just a matter of perspective."

"No, it's a matter of the facts…"

Merlin let them at it. They would always be going for one another's throats – or more correctly, Gwaine would be dancing around Will and baiting the bull while Will went for _his_ throat – but it usually died down within a few hours. A few days at most. It was best not to intervene and let them get it out of their system.

Instead, Merlin set about muttering to the three horses he'd already unconsciously chosen for them that day. He and Hunith had eight of their own, mostly either related or adopted else from owners who didn't want them anymore. They were like family while the agisted horses were the long-term guests at the estate. Merlin knew each of them on an personal level, knew their likes and dislikes, habits and tendencies, and would always choose accordingly for the occasional tourists that decided to swing by and hire a ride for an hour.

He was standing at Mordred's stall, running his finger down the buckskin's snout when Gwaine finally detached himself from Will's side to swagger over to him. He looked thoroughly satisfied for the exchange he just left, his expression one worn after a hearty meal, and didn't appear the least bit perturbed when he reached a hand for Mordred and nearly had his fingers snapped off by the finicky horse. "So which is the lucky steed today?"

"For you?" Merlin asked, returning his fingers to Mordred as the colt nickered at him for attention once more. "Depends. Do you have a preference?"

"Other than not Mordred?"

"There's nothing wrong with Mordred," Merlin said, to Mordred's mutter of, "If anyone's got something wrong with them it's _you_ , hairy man."

"His eyes are weird," Gwaine said without a touch of heat. It didn't even really sound like an offence coming from him.

"They're blue. How's that weird?"

"Horses aren't supposed to have blue eyes."

"What did he say?" Mordred asked, eyeballing Gwaine sceptically.

"He said you have beautiful eyes," Merlin translated.

"I most certainly did not," Gwaine replied indignantly.

Merlin shrugged, smiling as Mordred tossed his head with a slightly mollified grumble about the 'hairy man'. "I kind of like his eyes."

"Yeah, you would. He's basically your baby." Gwaine chuckled to himself at his own wit. "You even have matching noses."

Merlin glanced dubiously at his friend. "Matching noses?"

"Yeah, they're both pointy and kind of like a slippery-dip."

"That's how Arabs are supposed to be, you ignorama," Will said from behind him as he led Aisha from her stall. "And don't worry, Merlin, your nose isn't _that_ bad."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Will," Merlin replied, shaking his head with a smile. Will likely said as much mostly to disagree with Gwaine anyway. "You sure you're right to take Aisha out?" He asked instead, gesturing to the white quarter horse that followed his step and nibbled at the back of his head. Aisha's filly, Aithusa, trotted behind her, ears pricked and practically glued to her mother's side. "She might be a bit pissy being away from Aithusa."

Will shrugged. "Gotta break the mother-daughter attachment at some point, right? Better that I do it, being at least a moderately accomplished rider, than ignorama over here."

Gwaine held up a hand in a placating gesture. "I will profess my ignorance on this point, though it is misguided, if you'll cease with that abominable term you keep using."

"No bingo."

"You're a little shit."

"Yep."

"I thought you could take Henchman out," Merlin said, ignoring Will's self-satisfied smirk.

"He's the big bay, yeah?" Gwaine said, turning back to Merlin and gesturing towards the only other horse still in his stall. "I love that guy's name."

"Yeah, he suits you," Will said. "You're both bastards."

"Actually, he's not a bastard," Merlin said idly. "Henchman's pretty pure blooded."

"You're missing the insinuation, Merlin."

"Not missing it at all, Will."

"Yes! Point to Gwaine," Gwaine cried with unnecessary volume, making his way to Henchman's stall and unslinging the saddle that was flung over the door. The hired hands must have left it out yesterday, Merlin considered idly. Probably Mitch. He'd have to ask him not to leave them out of the tack shed again. "See, Will? I'm right if Merlin agrees with me."

Will pouted objectionably. "Merlin's misguided because you used to date."

"That's not valid reasoning."

"Yes, it is, because…"

Merlin tuned out their renewed arguing as he turned back to Mordred. _And this is why I don't get involved in these kind of friendly fights._

"They're very loud," Mordred commented, shifting pale gaze between Will and Gwaine disdainfully.

"They're just having fun," Merlin replied, drawing him out from his stall with a beckoning gesture.

"You're friends are mindless idiots," Mordred sighed with all the long-suffering of a world-weary parent.

He butted his head affectionately into Merlin's shoulder and Merlin rubbed a hand through his forelock with a smile. "Hey, aren't you only four years old? Where's all this maturity coming from?"

"I'm four only in years, Merlin. My maturity is far above that. Give me some credit."

Merlin shook his head, grinning at Mordred's continued muttering as he led the way out of the stables. Mordred had grown up quickly for a horse, had profound maturity and had shed his coltish ways over a year ago when his self-proclaimed 'girlfriend' Kara had moved away from the estate. He'd turned into something of a wistfully melancholic individual since then, though Merlin knew it to be mostly a farce. Mostly. The fact that he higher-order consideration for a lost love was evidence of the effect of growing up directly exposed to Merlin's conversations if nothing else was. Merlin wasn't sure whether he should feel apologetic or a little proud for that.

Gwaine and Will followed behind him with Will having progressed to resolutely ignoring Gwaine's attempts to bait him further. He fell into step alongside Merlin with a roll of his eyes that wasn't anywhere near as aggravated as he probably intended it to be. They followed in the wake of the trickle of loosed horses were making their way into the large paddock once more, all except for little Aithusa who seemed content to stick to Aisha's side.

"We'll probably have to walk her down," Will said, gesturing to her over his shoulder.

Merlin nodded. "Yeah. Maybe latch her onto Pigeon or something. She likes her."

"I like Pigeon. She's my favourite, I think," Gwaine said, drawing up along Merlin's other side with Henchman following at his shoulder.

"No one asked for your opinion, Gwaine," Will said in a bored monotone, sparing him a sidelong glance over Merlin's shoulder.

Gwaine actually ignored the complaint this time. "You think I could ride her tomorrow or something, Merls?"

Merlin shrugged. "Sure. Whatever." Then he paused. "How long are you actually thinking of staying here?"

Gwaine hummed thoughtfully, frowning skyward for a moment. He flashed a grin at Merlin a moment later that was all the answer Merlin needed. Merlin sighed, though he was hardly begrudging of Gwaine's presumption; Gwaine's company was just the sort that was impossible to hate. "Well, I guess if you're here all holidays it'll mean I don't have to drive you absolutely everywhere," he said.

"You shouldn't have to drive him anyway," Will objected on his behalf. He speared Gwaine with his own frown. " _Some_ people should consider the schedules of others."

Gwaine nodded with false solemnity. "Yes, of course, Willy. Some people definitely should."

"You're a dumbass, Gwaine."

Merlin laughed between them as another argument started over his head. It was that or risk crying for the sheer persistence of their discord. Merlin didn't really mind, though. Not really. He actually found it sort of comforting to listen to their banter. Merlin was fond of the quiet tranquillity that usually gripped the Emerson estate but… yes, sometimes it did get a bit boring.

No one could ever say Gwaine in particular was boring person.

They dropped Aithusa off at the paddock and with a word from Merlin and her mother both she actually went readily enough, trotting to Pigeon's side with ears pricked and barely a backward glance over her shoulder towards Aisha.

"Well, that was easier than expected," Will said, swinging himself up onto Aisha's back. He gathered the reins that both he and Gwaine had outfitted Aisha and Henchman with.

Merlin nodded as he and Gwaine followed suit. "For now. Let's not count our chickens before they hatch, yeah?" Then, with a murmured word to Mordred, he lurched into a lunging leap that dissolved into a smooth canter in seconds. Within bare moments, Mordred was leading the way at a flying gallop across the property. Merlin tilted his head backwards into the wind to the sound of Gwaine's whooping call chasing after him.

* * *

"Snake!"

Henchman's startled whinny ripped through the air in tandem with his equally startled jump, skitter and rapid retreat. He nearly backed into an indignant Aisha, who nipped at his rump and only served to startle him once more.

Will jerked Aisha away from the bay with a sharp yank of his reins, urging her into sidestepping, while Gwaine struggled briefly to get Henchman to cease his prancing. "Whoa, calm down, mate. What's up?" He glanced towards Merlin as he clamped a hard hand down on Henchman's reins. "What's wrong?"

Merlin opened his mouth to reply but before he could Mordred interrupted him with a violent snort. "Stupid idiot. You'd think he'd recognise Kilgharrah by now." And in a step that almost seemed to directly spit Henchman's flightiness in the face, he continued up the path towards the large paddock, practically stepping over where Kilgharrah lay sprawled along the roadside.

Merlin pointed to the grass snake camouflaged amidst the dry grass. "Sorry, Gwaine. Henchman's never been good with snakes."

"Too many bad memories," Henchman said with a shudder, completely ignoring Gwaine's direction to follow in Merlin's wake in favour of skirting to the other side of the road.

"You don't have bad memories of snakes," Aisha commented with a snort, dipping her head and flicking her ears.

"I do too."

"No you don't. The stories Yasper tells you don't count as bad memories if you haven't lived them."

"I'm assuming from the fact that you're ignoring me that I'm missing some sort of conversation?" Gwaine said, drawing Merlin attention from where he saw Aisha take another lunging nip towards Henchman as he fell into step beside her. It was in scolding only, he knew, and Will clearly did too for he didn't pull her up for it. Or perhaps he'd simply transferred his disgruntlement for Gwaine onto Henchman.

Merlin nodded, urging Mordred to slow to a stop with a slight squeeze of his knees. "Nothing particularly profound, though."

"Oh, well that's comforting. Though the fact that horses can have profound conversations still weirds me out."

"The fact that _you_ can have a profound conversation is weird to _me_ ," Will muttered, not quite quiet enough to be unheard.

"I left myself open for that one, didn't I?" Gwaine said with a sigh, glancing almost long-sufferingly towards Merlin.

"Yes, you did," Merlin agreed as he swung down from Mordred's back. He started back along the road a little ways to where Kilgharrah was making his slow, weaving way in their wake.

"Oh, hey, Merls, I don't think that's a good idea," Gwaine cautioned as Merlin passed him. "Even if you can talk to them, snakes can be dangerous."

"You are such an ignorama, Gwaine," Will said from behind Merlin. "One, it's a grass snake so it's not venomous. Two, Merlin's never been attacked by _any_ animal in his entire life. And three, that's Kilgahrow or whatever his name is. Isn't it, Merlin?"

Merlin spared a glance over his shoulder towards where Will was turning Aisha in a slow circle to avoid Henchman's continued skittering. Really, Merlin should have a talk to the bay about snakes. Again. "Kilgharrah," he corrected.

"Yeah, that," Will nodded, before turning back to Gwaine a little smugly. " _I_ know that. How is it that after nearly three years of knowing Merlin you don't?"

"Maybe I'm just concerned for a friend," Gwaine shot back. He actually frowned, as though for once Will's words had gotten to him.

"An unfounded concern. Of all the things to worry about."

"I'm allowed to worry."

"They are very noisy," Kilgharrah hissed, approaching Merlin and slowing until he was only incrementally moving to slide himself across the front of his boots.

Merlin tuned out Will and Gwaine's exchange at he bent down to offer an arm. It was a little disjointed at times, attempting to listen to humans and animals speaking at once. Or two different species of animal, even. Merlin didn't have any particular filter for words of animals in various species, but if there was one indicator of the linguistic differences it was that. His ears seemed to tingle just slightly, his head to hurting just a little, when he juggled as much for too long.

"Mordred actually said the same this morning," he replied.

"Oh." Kilgharrah flicked out a tongue. "Then I retract my words."

"That's petty, Kilgharrah," Merlin said, straightening once more as the snake lifted himself off the ground, wrapping around his wrist. "When will you get over this war you two are waging?"

"It is hardly a war, Merlin," Kilgharrah replied. "I simply object to any creature that deliberately seeks me out while I am basking in an attempt to crush me beneath their hoofs."

"That was two whole years ago," Merlin pointed out. "And in all fairness, you were stretched right across the very middle of the road."

Kilgharrah flicked his forked tongue into Merlin's face as he ascended his arm. "What better place to lie? Although I have taken your comment on the matter to heart. Did you not notice I lay alongside the road today?"

"I did notice that," Merlin said with a nod. "Any particular reason?"

"Yes. I've eaten my fill. Take me back to the dam."

Merlin rolled his eyes. He should have guessed as much; he could feel the solid distensions in Kilgharrah's gut, protruding along several lengths of his serpentine body. "And you can't take yourself?"

"It is far."

"So? You've got so much on your schedule, have you?"

"I have just eaten, Merlin. Undue movement is exceptionally taxing."

"As you've told me," Merlin said with a nod. Ten years he'd known Kilgharrah, and the snake had seemed old when he'd first met him. He seemed to feel it his duty to educate Merlin on the finer points of herpetology whether Merlin liked it or not. Or at least he used to; he'd apparently considered Merlin effectively graduated from such necessity some years ago. "How many rats did you eat?"

"It is rude to comment upon the diet of another, Merlin," Kilgharrah said mildly.

"Why would you even want to know that?" Gwaine called from behind him, drawing Merlin's attention over his shoulder once more. An expression of distaste twisted his features. "Have you ever seen a snake eat? It's horrifying."

"Have you ever seen yourself eat?" Will, expectedly, quipped back. "That's the true horror."

"I have exemplary table manners, I'll have you know," Gwaine replied, tilting his nose pompously into the air.

"Bullshit. You eat like a starving dog."

"You paint a picture with words, Will," Merlin said, dropping his chin with a smile.

Will flashed him a grin. "I do at that, don't I? Even better because you know it's accurate." Then, apparently decided to return the conversation back to where it had arisen, he gestured to where Kilgharrah was gradually making his way up around Merlin's neck. "What's he want?"

"To be dropped back to the dam," Merlin replied.

"No fucking way. Make him walk."

"Snakes can't walk," Gwaine pointed out with a smirk.

Will shot him a scathing glance. How he could switch between a smile and such a sincere glare so quickly always baffled Merlin. "I am aware of that, thank you. I just meant –"

"I'm pretty sure a snake that can walk is called a lizard."

"Gwaine," Will said flatly. "Shut the hell up." Then he turned back to Merlin. "Make him… slither."

"He just ate," Merlin explained.

"So?"

"So he'll be practically incapable of any particular movement until he'd digested a chunks of the rat he's stuffed himself with."

"Too much information," Gwaine said with a wrinkle of his nose. He actually urged Henchman back a step as though to escape Merlin's words, an inclination that Henchman, gaze still trained on Kilgharrah, apparently shared.

"You have a pathetically weak stomach, Gwaine," Will said.

"It's gross!"

"You're gross."

"Thank you, Willy, I've always wanted to be given such a unique and individualised nickname."

"It suits you."

"Anyway," Merlin interrupted, raising his voice slightly to be heard. Will and Gwaine were being particularly persistent with their antagonism today, something he attributed to their months apart, and Merlin knew he wouldn't get a word in unless he forced it. "I'm going to take him back. Either of you want to come?"

The expressions Will and Gwaine pulled were almost identical – something they would have been horrified to realise – and equally profound in their dissent. "We just rode for, like, two hours," Gwaine said, accompanied by Will's "If you think you'll get lost I'll come but…"

"Wow, you two are such loyal supportive friends." Merlin grinned as he walked back to Mordred's side. Mordred pinned Kilgharrah with a stare that very clearly said "I dare you to even try to bite me" that Kilgharrah pointedly ignored. "And Will, why the hell would I have trouble finding the dam? How long have I lived here for?"

"Your whole life?" Gwaine said, though it sounded more like a question. He glanced towards Will. "I thought he'd lived here his whole life."

"It was a rhetorical question, dumbass," Will sighed. As Merlin swung himself up onto Mordred's back once more, Will turned Aisha in a circle. "I'm going to take Aisha back for Aithusa. Don't drown in the pond, Merlin."

"Yeah, call if you need anything," Gwaine added, turning to follow behind Will.

"I lost my phone," Merlin reminded him.

Gwaine paused Henchman in step, frowning thoughtfully. "Oh yeah. Hm. That's a bitch." Then he brightened with a smile, twisting to flash it in Merlin's direction. "I'll go get you another one from town while you're at the dam."

"You don't have a car," Will called from ahead of him without even glancing behind him.

Gwaine turned and urged Henchman back into a slow trot to catch up with him. "It's okay, I'll just steal Merlin's."

"You're a bastard, Gwaine," Will replied.

"Hey, he wouldn't mind."

"Did you think to maybe ask…?"

They voices faded with distance as Will urged Aisha into a canter in what Merlin suspected would likely turn into a race back up to the large paddock. Gwaine wasn't sincerely competitive but he would never pass up a challenge of such a regard.

"They're very noisy," Mordred muttered for the second time that day.

"They are at that," Merlin agreed, shaking his head with a smile. He loved his friends, but when it came to their initial butting heads it was nearly impossible to get a word in edgewise. He leaned forwards slightly to meet Mordred's eye as the horse turned his head towards him. "Are you alright if we take a trip out to the dam and drop Kilgharrah off? I can go and grab someone else if you've had enough for the day."

Mordred snorted indignantly, turning sharply and setting off at a trot back the way they'd just come. "I'm not a feeble senior, Merlin, or a colt who spends their energy too quickly."

"I never said you were."

"And I'm hardly incompetent enough that I can't make a trip out to the _dam_. I'll make it faster than anyone else could, too." And as though attempting to prove as much, Mordred threw himself into a canter that grew rapidly into a gallop once more. Merlin locked his fingers into his mane, gripping with his legs and simply let him have it.

They did arrive in record time, rolling over the hills and descending that which led to the dam in less than twenty minutes. Mordred was fast, possibly the fastest of the horses on the estate, and he took pride in demonstrating his capabilities whenever possible. He seemed to be attempting to minimise his own panting as they pulled alongside the water, however, slowing back to a trot and then finally stopping before the wide expanse of still water.

Merlin slipped to the ground, automatically dragging the saddle blanket off after him and tapping Mordred's rump. "You can go for a swim if you want."

"I'm not tired," Mordred said, glancing towards Merlin with ears folding back slightly in the equivalent of a frown.

"I never said you were," Merlin replied. "But it's already getting hot. I thought you might appreciate it."

Mordred stared at him for a moment longer as though gauging the sincerity of Merlin's words, but didn't need telling twice. Shaking himself as though ridding his flanks of sweat, he took himself down to the waterside and crashed through the surface in an explosive eruption of spray.

"He is an objectionable child, is he not?" Kilgharrah hissed from Merlin's neck. He'd silent for the entire trip, the sleepiness of satiety weighing heavily upon him. He'd ever rested his head upon Merlin's shoulder as though in preparation for sleep.

"He is at that," Merlin agreed, watching as Mordred took himself deep enough that his feet kicked off the ground and he was forced to swim. "I don't know how but I seem to surround myself with loud, pretty objectionable people."

"Perhaps you have unfortunate magnetisation capacities?"

Merlin glanced down at him with a growing smile. "Hey, you remembered our conversation about magnets."

"Do not talk down to me, Merlin. I have no venom but by bite is still painful."

Laughing, Merlin kicked his boots off so that he could dip his toes into the water as he skirted the dam. It was blessedly cool; the heat wave that had recently struck Wales, temperatures suspended unwaveringly around thirty degrees, was taking its toll on not just the tiredly sagging grasses and flowers. Merlin was actually looking forwards to the cooler seasons for once himself.

"Where would you like me to tuck you away?" He asked Kilgharrah, wandering ankle-deep through the dam in the vague direction of the jetty.

"So long as my whereabouts are secreted, I have no particular preference," Kilgharrah murmured in reply, his head dropping back to Merlin's shoulder. "Except that it is near the sun. And not on a slope. And away from that nest of foolish lizards."

"So you do have a preference?"

"Merlin. I do bite."

Merlin grinned but obligingly set about finding a nest to tuck Kilgharrah into. He ended up tucking him beside a rocky outcrop next to the jetty, and Kilgharrah barely spared him a murmur of sparse gratitude before he curled in upon himself in knotted coils to digest in peace.

It was only when Merlin rose to his feet from where he'd been crouching that he caught a glimpse of the frog waiting at the far end of the jetty. He was fairly sure it was the same one from yesterday, though he could never be sure with creatures so small and all but strangers to him. Turning fully towards it, Merlin spared a glance for where Mordred still swum laps of the dam before folding his arms comfortably across his chest. "Hello again."

The frog croaked in what sounded more grumblingly indignant than a return greeting. He hopped a small jump towards Merlin before halting, head tipped distinctly in the direction Merlin had just secreted Kilgharrah. "That snake tried to eat me yesterday."

Merlin nodded. Definitely the same frog then. "He did."

"Yet you treat it like a friend?"

Merlin shrugged. "Everything has to eat something."

The frog took another small, awkward hop towards him. He seemed to be positioning himself so that Merlin stood between him and where Kilgharrah was likely already sleeping. "That's a double standard. How do you gain the trust of animals if you talk to and make nice with those that try to eat them?"

Merlin stared at the frog for a moment, a frown tightening his brow. He'd noticed it yesterday but it only struck him more forcefully this time that this frog was definitely a little odd. Not only was it entirely intelligible right off the bat, something that Merlin had rarely if ever experienced but accepted as an abnormality, but it seemed to lack the basic understanding of… of everything. Even of the fact that Merlin could talk to other animals, for he clearly hadn't instinctively known yesterday with his almost accusing question. That was a first time for Merlin, too. For some reason, animals just seemed to know he would understand them. All of them.

"You don't have any idea at all, do you?" He said curiously, strolling idly down the jetty.

"I object to that generalisation," the frog croaked.

"I meant about – about everything." He gestured to himself. "No one ever has an opinion about my 'double standards' or however you'd like to call them. It's not like I'm the one eating people."

The frog blinked up at him blankly. Merlin had always been able to read animals in a way most people seemed to consider didn't exist at all; he saw expressions where there apparently weren't any, read emotions that most psychologists of the word would profess didn't arise in anything but humans. But Merlin knew they did. He'd had as much validated but countless exchanges. In the frog he could read dubiousness when it said, "That's another double standard, there."

"How so?"

"You eat animals, I'm sure."

"No I don't."

The frog made a sound that in a human would have been a snort of disbelief. "Oh, so you've never had a steak? Never even eaten eggs?"

Merlin shook his head. "Not since I knew what they were. I haven't eaten meat in seventeen years and the only eggs I'll eat are Veggs."

"I beg your pardon?"

Merlin sighed, wiping a hand across his forehead. Trying to explain veganism to an animal that ate other animals, even if they were only insects, was next to impossible. He'd frequently tried with Kilgharrah simply because Kilgharrah often demanded a repeat explanation for what he considered 'idiotic and unnatural'. "Forget about it. You wouldn't understand."

The frog frowned. Not an actual frown, of course, but Merlin saw it as such. There was no wrinkling of the smooth, slick skin atop its head, no narrowing of its eyes, but the slight quirk of its mouth and the way it blinked bespoke as much. At least Merlin read it as such. "Don't talk down to me," it said.

Merlin smiled. Don't talk down to a creature that was smaller than the palm of his hand and quite literally sat at his feet? That might be a little hard, at least literally. "You sound just like Kilgharrah."

"Kilgharrah?"

"The snake that tried to eat you," Merlin said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder to where Kilgharrah was hidden.

"The snake has a name?"

"Of course he does," Merlin replied, raising an eyebrow. "Don't you?"

"Yes, but I'm an actual person." The frog settled back on its haunches and seemed to draw itself up straighter. "Animals don't give themselves names – unless you gave it to him?"

"No, I didn't. Just about everyone comes up with their own unless, you know, someone gives them another one first." He frowned, settling his folded arms more tightly. "And speaking of double standards."

"What?" The frog grunted.

"You're an actual person but a snake isn't?"

"I told you, I'm a person."

Merlin stared at the frog for a moment. A long moment in which the frog stared back at him, the only sound Mordred's distant splashing as he finally extricated himself from the water on the other side of the dam. "You're still pushing this?" Merlin finally said.

The frog took a leap forwards until it landed half on Merlin's foot, a long-fingered, webbed hand slapping onto his toe. Was that supposed to be an expression of its indignation? "I _am_. I am a prince that was turned into a frog by –"

"We've been through this," Merlin interrupted, crouching down into a squat and, propping an elbow on his knee, he dropped his chin into his palm. "I've heard it all before. Was it a witch? A wizard? An evil spell?"

The frog slapped his toe again in what was definitely indignation this time. "It _was_. Listen, Emrys, you right pain in the –"

"It's Merlin," he corrected.

"What?"

"My name's Merlin. Merlin Emerson. I don't know where you got Emrys from."

The frog seemed to glare up at him for a moment. "From the… the witch. The one who changed me."

"Really?" Merlin raised his eyebrows in what he hoped was an expression lacking too much in insult. The frog was adamant, and apparently angered in its persistence for whatever reason. Maybe it had some suppressed rage for something? "This witch actually talked to you?" He thought it a little unbelievable considering he'd never heard of anyone but his father being able to speak to another animal before.

"Yes," the frog replied. "And she told me that to change back into a human again I would have to find _you_."

"Don't frog princes have to kiss a princess?" Merlin asked.

"Shut up, Emrys."

"Merlin."

"Merlin. Whatever. And yes, that's the idea. I have to kiss someone of equal standing to myself to change back."

Merlin bit back a grin. It was practically textbook procedure when it came to fairy tales. "Really?"

"Do _not_ talk down to me."

"You're a frog who weighs something like twenty-five grams. That might be a little hard."

"Don't take speak so literally. You know what I'm talking about."

"You're very eloquent for a frog," Merlin pondered aloud, the thought bypassing his mind once more.

Another slap touched his toe. "That's because I'm a _prince_."

"So that would make you a boy, right?"

"Obviously –"

"What's you're name, sire?" Merlin asked politely. Or at least he attempted politeness, as he always did when speaking to animals for the first time. The 'sire' slipped out in mockery quite without his consent.

Clearly the frog heard it too, for he stared up at Merlin unblinkingly for a long moment in what looked very distinctly like a glare. When he spoke it was with clipped words, each utterance a sharp croak. "My name is Arthur."

Merlin stared down at the frog for a second. A moment later and he couldn't help himself but burst into laughter. He dropped his forehead into his hand, shaking his head as his shoulders shook in insuppressible mirth. "Jeez, I take back what I said yesterday. You really have done your research, haven't you?"

"I haven't –"

"Prince Arthur?" Merlin peered through his fingers at the thoroughly indignant frog before him. "As in Prince Arthur of Cardiff?"

"Yes," the frog all but spat.

"As in Prince Prat of the embarrassing headlines who only yesterday was caught making a scene outside The Potted Pig with a horde of rich lords and ladies who –"

"That wasn't me," the frog interrupted him with a loud and frustrated croak.

Merlin nodded fervently. "I'll bet it's not, because you'd have to be a very well travelled little frog to have made it all the way from Cardiff up here in twenty-four hours."

"It. Wasn't. Me," the frog ground out. Merlin couldn't help but snicker once more, even as he fought to bite back the urge. He'd never met such an entitled and aggressively demanding frog before. Maybe he was a real frog prince? Frog royalty? Did frogs even have a matriarchy? He didn't think so. "It's a clone. Or a doppleganger. Or… I don't know, perhaps Nimueh changed someone to look like me when she turned me into a toad."

"Frog," Merlin corrected.

"Same thing!"

"No they're not –"

"Shut up, _Mer_ lin," the frog overrode him, hitching his words in a strange drawl that Merlin had certainly never heard from an animal before. And certainly not a frog. Frogs were typically fairly good-natured. "I don't care about amphibians."

"Even though you are one?" Merlin cocked his head as the frog seemed to seethe at some perceived slight. He bit back the urge to grin once more – it really shouldn't be as fun teasing the hell out of a frog as it was – before drawing the conversation back on track. He propped his chin onto his hand once more. "This witch must be really something, huh?"

"I didn't even know that Nimueh could do magic."

"Of course not," Merlin nodded. "Magic doesn't exist."

"Says the one who talks to animals," the frog replied.

Merlin opened his mouth to reply but had to close it at that. Point taken. He'd never really considered his ability to talk to and be understood by animals magic before but… he supposed to some people it might appear as such. It wasn't; Merlin didn't know what it was but for a genetic gift he'd gotten from his father, but it wasn't magic. It wasn't.

"You're supposed to help me," the frog said, drawing Merlin's attention down to it once more. "That's what Nimueh said. She didn't tell me how, but she said that Emrys would be the one to help me." He made a sound that could almost be construed as a sigh. "No one else can understand me so you _have_ to be who she was talking about."

Merlin nodded, biting back another grin. "Yes, well, most people can't talk to animals, or so I've heard."

"I'm not an –" The frog cut himself off and if he'd had eyebrows Merlin knew they would have been frowning in an infuriated scowl. "Look, you're supposed to help me, not be a complete fucking bastard about the situation."

Merlin actually started at that and couldn't withhold an incredulous burst of laughter. He'd never heard an animal swear so vehemently before. This frog was a new experience entirely. Not to mention that being called a 'fucking bastard' by a frog was one of the most hilarious things he'd ever experienced.

Shaking his head, Merlin had to cover his mouth with a hand to smother his giggles. The frog didn't appear impressed in the slightest. "Um," he attempted through his laughter. "Why, um… why should I have to help you? That's very entitled of you, you know. I could almost believe you're royalty for that."

The frog seemed to struggle to speak at Merlin's words. He shifted on his haunches, foot fidgeting on Merlin's toes. When he spoke again it was definitely begrudging. "Because I need your help. I…" Another pause, another very apparent struggle. "Please. Help me."

Merlin pressed his hand over his lips even more tightly at the evident struggle the frog had with such an attempt at cordiality. It only just managed to smother his urge to laugh. Merlin had to take a deep breath to compose himself before replying. "There. Now was that so hard, sire?"

The frog made a vexed croaking sound and took a deliberate shuffle backwards so that he was no longer tapping on Merlin's toe. "Look, asking for help isn't exactly my strong suit."

"I might have guessed that."

"I'd much rather just pay you for it somehow. When I'm human again."

"Right," Merlin nodded, biting back another smile. God, it was just so ridiculously amusing. "When you're Prince Arthur again."

The frog grumbled something that sounded like "still don't believe me" but it seemed more as though he was speaking to himself than to Merlin. Then he turned and with a strange, awkward flap of a hand gestured towards the other end of the jetty. "I've a token of appreciation, anyway."

"What?" Merlin said, lifting his gaze to where the frog had pointed.

"Don't make me say it again. This is humiliating enough as it is."

Merlin rose to standing, frowning curiously as he made his way along the jetty. Incredulity raised his eyebrows when he stopped at the end, reaching down to pick up the filthy, previously unnoticed and remarkably well-camouflaged phone that rested upon the final plank of the jetty. He blinked down at it blankly for a moment turning it over in his hands before glancing towards the frog. He'd followed Merlin at a distance and now squatted several steps away.

As Merlin affixed him with his attention, he shifted awkwardly. "Consider it a token of my good will."

"You went and got my phone out of the pond for me?" Merlin said redundantly.

With an awkward shuffle, the frog hopped another step closer. "I know how much I live with my own phone –"

"The fact that you even know what a phone is is commendable," Merlin said with a widening smile, shaking his head in continued stupefaction.

"Of course I know –"

"Are you sure you haven't spoken to another human before?"

"I'm not a fucking frog!"

Merlin laughed once more as he turned his attention back to his phone. It had accumulated enough dirt for it's brief submersion at the bottom of the lake to almost completely obscure the gaudy gold cover. In Merlin's opinion it was actually an improvement. But still… "This isn't all that much of a payment," he said, flicking phone against his palm in an attempt to rid it of the muck. He could swear he heard sloshing inside of it. "It's completely dead."

The frog stamped his foot in what Merlin was coming to suspect was a characteristic behaviour of indignation. "That's no way to respond to a –"

"But the gesture is very appreciated," Merlin hastened to add. He flapped the phone once more, flicking some of the mud from it. "I mean, it's useless now, but that's okay. It's the thought that counts and –"

The phone slipped in Merlin's fingers. Quite by accident, and ignoring his fumbling attempt to grab it once more, it clattered onto the jetty. Then it slipped through, hitting the flat surface of the pond with a hollow _plop!_

Merlin stared. He stared through the cracks in the jetty at the ripples seeping from the point of submersion. Then, bypassing his control entirely, he dissolved into laughter once more. Oh, God, he'd done it again. It was just – it was so –

"You pillock, you dropped it again!" The frog all but cried, and when Merlin glanced towards him, seeing his little foot stamp and the indignation rising thickly from him, his amusement redoubled.

The frog was not impressed in the slightest. He uttered a loud croak reminiscent of a burp. "After I did all that for you, you just drop it? Do you have any idea how hard it is for a frog to pick up a phone? To swim with one? Do you?"

Merlin snorted as he struggled to reply. "I – I'm sorry, I –"

"After my struggle, my attempt to meet you halfway with my good intentions."

"Really, it was – it was an accident, I'm just really clumsy, I –"

"Yeah, I noticed that." Another stamp of the frog's foot sent Merlin into a fit of giggles once more. "Stop laughing."

"I'm sorry."

"Stop _laughing_ –"

"What are you laughing at, Merlin?"

Merlin half turned towards where Mordred was trotting around the dam, ears pricked curiously as he approached the jetty. "It's nothing, just –"

"Just you acting like an utterly incompetent idiot," the frog interrupted loudly. For such a small creature, he certainly had a very loud voice.

Merlin nodded obligingly. "Yeah, pretty much."

"Is Kilgharrah asleep?" Mordred asked, ignoring the frog's croaking. "Are we going home now?"

Stifling the last of his merriment, Merlin turned towards the end of the jetty once more. He shouldn't have dropped the phone. It hadn't been intentional but he shouldn't have done it anyway. The frog was a right little shit, rude to boat, but he had obviously tried. Tried, even if it was begrudgingly and a little confusing as to why he'd bothered. Taking himself back along the jetty, Merlin paused at the frog's side. "I'm going home now. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude and it really was an accident. I appreciate the thought, really, but –"

"Take me with you," the frog interrupted sharply once more. He jumped towards Merlin and dropped a hand onto his foot once more. "You have to take me with you. Fix me."

"Listen, Froggy –"

"It's _Arthur_."

"Yeah, okay," Merlin said slowly, biting back his mirth. "Arthur. This is all really funny and everything, but I can't change you into a human. It doesn't work like that. Magic doesn't exist."

"It _does_ exist," the frog said emphatically. There was an edge to his tone, something that bordered on desperate. It dampened Merlin's smile instantly. "It does, and I need help. You have to – you have to help me." He paused, seemed to struggle for a moment, then, "Please."

Merlin didn't know what it was exactly. Maybe it was the desperation in the frog's voice. Maybe it was his unyielding persistence, or maybe it was the fact that, even though he barely knew him, Merlin felt that for some reason the frog had rarely if ever used the word 'please' before.

Merlin couldn't do anything. God, what the hell was he supposed to do? Find a princess or something to kiss the frog prince and prove that no, he wasn't human, such things didn't happen and the frog needed to grow out of his delusion? But even knowing that, Merlin couldn't help himself. He felt like he had to at least do something.

"Merlin? Are we going?" Mordred called from where he'd drawn to a halt at the end of the jetty, his hoof just tapping on the base plank.

Merlin spared him a glance before glancing down towards the frog who hadn't shifted his upward gaze from him for an instant. He really was very small, speckled and of a plain tan colouration, and absolutely nothing to comment on. But something in his black-gold eyes was pleading, imploring. Certainly a little desperate.

Sighing, Merlin reached down, leaned over the edge of the jetty to dip his hand into the water to dampen his fingers before without ceremony he scooped the frog into his palm. The self-proclaimed Arthur gave a startled, indignant squawk that Merlin ignored as he stared back towards Mordred. "We've got another passenger for the return journey," he said.

"Oh, joy." Mordred blew his lips in exasperation. "Are you collecting frogs now?"

Merlin only smiled. He ignored Mordred's ensuing ridicule of frogs in general as he wandered back to where he'd dropped the saddle blanket, ignored too the grumbles of the frog about how he "would not tolerate manhandling again". He didn't say another word to either of them when he was back astride Mordred and heading towards home at a slow trot.

Meeting new animals wasn't particularly unusual. Meeting objectionable or deluded animals wasn't really either. But the frog who muttered and seethed in his hand the entire trip back to the estate – he was a little bit different. Just a little.


	3. Chapter 3 - Tadpole

**Chapter 3: Tadpole**

One month.

One whole month it had taken Arthur to travel from Cardiff to North Ceredigion. One month of hell, of terror, of near death experiences and shorting his nerves so drastically that he wasn't sure what it felt like to be calm, to be at ease anymore. It should have taken less than three hours by car, but in the time that Arthur had been a toad – no, a _frog_ – he'd deduced that life was far, far more difficult than it had any right to be.

Nimueh had kicked him out of the castle. Kicked him far out of the castle, too. His mother's old advisor and best friend had always been brutally blunt, of the hard love variety, but Arthur had never anticipated her to be so cruel. She'd turned him into a frog, a _fucking frog_ , and then kicked him out with barely a handful of words for direction. It had taken some days of grogginess, of struggling to function in the awkward, four-legged and ridiculous body Arthur had been thrust into, for him to recall it all.

 _You take too much for granted, Arthur. You care too little for the path before you and even less for the consequences of your actions._

 _We'll set this to rights, shall we? Burn this frivolity from you and instil a modicum of consideration? Tamp down on this wayward philandering and damning of your station and consequences? Lover after lover, Arthur, and no end on the horizon…_

 _A kiss. A kiss is all it will take and you'll obtain your true form. A kiss from your equal, one who meets your_ station _, as you so consider yourself. Perhaps if you are forced to settle down to be human then you might actually consider the possibility of a future at all?_

And finally, the ultimate of instructions: _Find Emrys, Arthur. He's the one who will help you. Perhaps the only one who can, if his particular… gifts are still in function as the stories would have it. Find him and perhaps you may learn a little along the way._

Arthur learned. He learned very well. He learned that the trip up north was impossibly far for a creature smaller than a clenched fist, and still took an impossibly long time when he'd managed to work out the struggles of hitching a lift on any passing vehicle. He learned that frogs didn't stomach human food particularly well – obviously – and that, though it disgusted him, flies had become a staple of his diet and snails were utterly and repulsively delectable. He learned that frogs dried out like a bitch and if he was too long away from immersion everything started to hurt and he rapidly decreased his locomotive capabilities.

Arthur learned to fear birds, and snakes, and bigger frogs. He learned from more than one near crushing experience that cars were big, and fast, and that streak of muddy pulp on the ground he'd passed on his trip through the Brecon Beacons national park that had once been a less intelligent amphibian could very easily be him if he wasn't careful. Arthur learned that moving at night was often favourable to travelling by day as less sun meant less drying out, and he learned that whatever it was, however she'd managed it, Nimueh had attached his mental compass in a physical drag to an unseeable source in North Ceredigion. Arthur hadn't even known what it was until he'd seen Emrys for the first time.

Merlin. Until he'd seen Merlin for the first time. The great, idiotic pillock.

Arthur didn't understand why Nimueh had acted as she had. He wasn't so entirely oblivious as to overlook the media roasting his 'philandering' ways, or to misunderstand what she meant when she urged him to settle down. Arthur had never had a steady partner. Ever. It wasn't for him; he'd never cared for anyone, anyone outside of his family, enough to maintain such commitment, had never felt the urge to settle for one person. And why should he? It wasn't like he needed to. There was nothing wrong with the lifestyle he had now. Nothing at all.

But apparently Nimueh thought otherwise. And apparently Nimueh also thought that she knew best. That it didn't matter that it was _none of her business_ , and that her role in the royal family should have – definitely should have, in Arthur's opinion – ended with his mother, but that didn't matter to Nimueh.

He'd never liked her. The utter bitch.

And somehow, some impossible way, she'd transformed him into a frog. She'd told Arthur to get his act together, to kiss a princess or whatever, and 'settle down'. How exactly she considered turning him into a frog had any chances of achieving that he didn't know. Was it supposed to change him somehow?

Well, Arthur supposed it certainly had. He would never look at escargot the same way again, that was for sure, to say nothing of real frog's legs. And he would similarly live in constant fear of this thing called magic that _shouldn't_ exist, _hadn't_ existed before Nimueh had flicked her fingers into crackles and sparks of blue lightning and shot him into frog-form.

How? How had that even happened?

Arthur didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about such an impossibility, of what the realisation of the mystical could mean for the world. Of what it would mean for him when he became human once more. When, not if. Arthur would make sure of it, would retake his human form once more if only so that he could thoroughly fire Nimueh once and for all and declare to his father that he was an _utter fool_ for considering he should keep her on the staff after his mother's death.

When he did. When. And apparently his best option for achieving that was Emrys. Or Merlin Emerson.

Merlin was the anchor that had drawn his the entire way across Wales. A simpleton who lived on a farm estate on the midway between Ceredigion and Powys, who rode horses without a saddle and had butter fingers – he'd dropped the phone not once but _twice_ , the idiot – and who didn't understand reality when it slapped him in the face. Arthur had _told_ him that he was a prince and Merlin had disregarded him. He'd _laughed_.

The laughing had hurt the most, even if it wasn't cruel or mocking but merely amused. Worst of all, however, was that Arthur would have to grit his teeth and push through his humiliation. He needed Emrys – Merlin – because he was the only person in the world who spoke frog.

Dear God, that he even had to consider that necessity…

It was with almost insufferable embarrassment but utter relief that Arthur found himself cupped in Merlin's hand as they road in the direction that was apparently his home. More than that was that it was discomforting, because Arthur had come to the rather unfortunate realisation some weeks ago that his skin was particularly sensitive to touch and chemical changes. Merlin, in an act of foresight that Arthur hadn't considered possible for such a _complete idiot_ , had actually taken a moment to dampen his hand before scooping Arthur up in his palm, and it was only that which Arthur considered his savour for his discomfort being otherwise insufferable.

That was one of the most annoying things, really. He still had the mind of a man, _knew_ that his skin shouldn't be sensitive enough that a touch of a dirty finger could feel like a sizzling burn, except his body was resolutely telling him otherwise. It was horrible.

The ride back to the house was longer than Arthur had anticipated but blessedly not unendurable. He'd survived longer on the bumper of a car than the trip took, and in the glaring summer sun it was far less comfortable than in a warm but damp handhold. The rocking of the buckskin horse was alleviated some by Merlin's hold too, ascents and descents of the undulating hills smoothed. Arthur settled himself into moderate discomfort and merely observed his surroundings.

It was a beautiful place. Truly beautiful, really, though Arthur felt he hardly had the headspace for such considerations. He'd always had an eye for beauty, he knew, of both stagnant landscapes and the more bedazzling kind, and the property Merlin in all likelihood lived upon was beautiful. Little groves of trees peppered the hills, lining the crests and the troughs of each mound and shadowing what little remained of the tiny streams that persevered through the early summer. After a time, that landscape became broken by fences, by a crosshatch of narrow paths that grew gradually more pronounced the further they rode. Shortly after, climbing up a lazy incline, Arthur lifted himself slightly in Merlin's hand to peer over his fingers to make out a large, sprawling paddock littered with what looked like dozens of horses.

"Do you by any chance own a horse farm?" Arthur asked, attempting to keep the disdain from his voice. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate horses – he'd been riding for as long as he could remember, partaking in dressage competitions since he was five – but he had never taken to farms. Not any kind of farm. They were dirty, and filled with dirty labourers, and built from little houses that were practically lean-tos and –

"You mean a _ranch_ ," Merlin replied with a drawling accent that told Arthur immediately that he was teasing him. A glance upwards at his face peering down upon him showed Arthur was indeed grinning, his eyes swirling with a strange and just perceivable golden shine that seemed to arise whenever Arthur spoke to him. Oh, how Arthur wished his frog eyes could glare at that moment, his disgruntlement surfacing even through the uneasiness of Merlin's weird eye thing that for a moment reminded him of Nimueh when she'd magicked him. Only for a moment, however. He looked away an instant later, refusing to give Merlin the satisfaction of a reply or his attention as much as to avert his gaze from the gold.

A few moments later and Merlin leaned forwards slightly in his seat and patted at the buckskin's neck. "Did you want to go into the large paddock or the stables, Mordred?" Arthur noticed his eyes flicker golden when he spoke to the horse, too. He wondered if that meant anything in particular.

The horse nickered, as though in reply to Merlin's words. Which, Arthur realised a moment later when Merlin replied in turn, was likely exactly what it was. He'd heard Merlin talk to the snake, and the horse before but… "Those are you're only two options. Don't be a spoilt brat."

Another nicker, a snort and a toss of his head, and Merlin chuckled as though the horse Mordred had spoken a joke. "What if I put you in the round yard, then? Tyr would have a heart attack if he couldn't keep eyes on you at all times. That suit?"

Arthur wasn't sure if the buckskin's reply was in the affirmative or not but apparently whatever he'd said was conclusive for Merlin spoke no more. The horse picked up its step as it passed the horse-filled paddock, not even glancing or flickering an ear in acknowledgement of the whinnies his passing induced, and drew towards what Arthur assumed was the round yard. It was vaguely circular at least.

Merlin dismounted with the ease of one who had ridden horses his entire life, managing to juggle Arthur without jostling him in the slightest. He urged the buckskin into the round yard and latched the gate behind him with a sigh. "Please don't jump over the fence today, Mordred. I know it's not really a challenge for you but Tyr –"

He cut himself off as Mordred snorted, breaking into a trot and skirting the yard. Arthur could only assume his reply was what silenced Merlin again in turn, for he only raised a hand in acknowledgement after that before turning and starting away from the yard back up the hill.

As he did he turned his attention down to Arthur. "Now. What am I going to do with you?"

Arthur stared up at him unblinkingly, biting back the urge to reply with an indignant "Do with me? You will do absolutely nothing!" Arthur was a prince, should be afforded all due respect, and he had lacked that which he was due for so long now that it was almost a familiar ache in considering his loss. But demanding wouldn't get him anything, especially not when he was a fucking frog. It was such a strange – a _humiliating_ – situation for Arthur to find himself so small before a human. Disconcerting, or at least it would have been had Merlin been the first Arthur had seen.

He wasn't, and as such Arthur could almost view him as he would have had he been wearing his human skin. He could discern that he was tall, yes, ridiculously tall, but such height was likely only marginally above average rather than the looming giant he appeared. He wasn't particularly big, either, longer rather than broader in a way that Arthur acknowledged was probably more suitable for riding horses. He looked young, perhaps twenty years old or thereabouts, and had the open, guileless face of one who could either be incredibly kind-hearted and optimistic or incredibly stupid.

Or perhaps a combination of both, Arthur reasoned. He hadn't seen any indication to prove one over the other but… Merlin was stupid, an idiot, but he was also helping Arthur. Helping what he perceived to be a frog to… to…

God, Arthur hoped he could convince him he was a human. Not that he knew what to do after achieving as much, but it would be a long life as an amphibian if he failed to do so.

Merlin certainly seemed open enough to conversation as he peered down at Arthur expectantly, which Arthur could only assume was a product of frequently conversing with any number of dumb animals. He had unusual features, pointed and angular, almost ridiculously sharp cheekbones and a slightly pointed nose beneath wide, bright eyes that Arthur recognised as being the source of his guileless impression. People shouldn't appear so innocent and genuine from a simple gaze.

Shifting on his palm, Arthur turned his regard to their surroundings. To the round yard and the horse-speckled paddock, to the hillside that stretched up towards stout building with wide-flung doors that he could only assume was a stable of sorts. Further up, hidden behind the crest of the hill, he could make out the tip of a grey roof. A house, Arthur could only assume. Fuck, he hadn't been inside a building of any sort in a month. Even as a frog he desperately wanted to sleep in a bed again. The desire was felt as physical ache of longing.

"Well?"

Arthur turned his attention back to Merlin at his prompting. "Well what?"

"What do you want me to do with you? I could take you down to the large paddock down by the horses and you could go in the pond –"

"What? No. I don't want to be eaten by horses," Arthur replied sharply, shifting in place. His skin was itching from dryness, from the touch of Merlin's skin. He would have to do something about that.

Merlin scrunched his nose slightly but didn't appear particularly disgruntled by Arthur's interruption. Arthur could only credit him that, if begrudgingly. He wasn't the type of person to stand for rudeness, at least not when directed towards himself. He warranted respect, after all. "The horses won't eat you," Merlin said.

"They might."

"They won't. And if it really bothers you then I'll tell them to make sure they –"

"I'm not going in the fucking pond," Arthur said, stamping his foot for emphasis. He found the lack of facial muscles, the ability to frown or glare, somewhat inhibiting in attempting to convey his disgruntlement. It was infuriating.

"Alright, alright," Merlin said hastily, holding up his free hand in placation. He didn't appear annoyed in the slightest, not by Arthur's interruption or his dissention. If anything he seemed amused once more, which was even more irritating. "Then how about the water trough up in the stable –"

"You're putting me in a trough?" Arthur really wished he could scowl now. "That's filthy. Do you have any idea how unhygienic that is?"

"As someone who used to scrub troughs as punishment when I was a kid, yes, I do," Merlin said, grinning as though the thought didn't bother him in the slightest. "But alright. Not the trough, then. Where do you want to go?"

"Inside," Arthur said immediately. "The less time I have to spend outdoors the better. This last month that I've been a frog has been…" He trailed off, cringing at the memory and effectively biting his tongue to still his words. He didn't want to tell some stranger his woes; complaining was a different thing entirely, was an expression of due entitlement, but breathing word of his struggles in a show of utter incompetency? Arthur wouldn't do that. Certainly not to Merlin, who was the only person in the world who could apparently understand him. Arthur knew. He'd tried more people than he could count. If he was going to be stuck with Merlin indefinitely, he didn't want to be viewed with pity. He was a prince, for fuck's sake.

Merlin didn't appear pitying. In fact, if anything he seemed amused once more. "You're still trying to push that, are you?" He asked.

"Push what?" Arthur grunted, hoping his glare up at Merlin's niggling smile was enough to stifle it.

It wasn't. "The whole 'I'm a prince, turn me into a human' act."

"It's not an act," Arthur ground out.

"Listen, Froggy –"

"Arthur."

Merlin raised his gaze skyward once more, visibly struggling to withhold his mirth. "Alright, we're sticking with that too? Arthur, then. I don't know what you want – don't pull the prince thing again, come on – but I can play your game if you'd like until you get tired of it. What would you like to do?"

Arthur opened his mouth to reply before closing it. It was a struggle not to snap a sharp retort back at Merlin for his persisting ignorance, but he managed. Arthur had never been one to consider situations from other's perspectives before – he'd never wanted nor particularly needed to on anything but a business level – but he supposed he could understand where Merlin was coming from, regardless of how annoying it was. As such, he quashed the urge to assert his authority once more; admittedly, it was partially because it wouldn't do any good anyway if he did.

Arthur gave himself two goals in that moment. One: force Merlin to understand that he truly was a human, even if he wouldn't manage to impress that he was Prince Arthur himself. And two: force Merlin to help him find a way to turn back. In both, Merlin was a key player. It wouldn't do well to antagonise him.

Everything else would have to take a seat on the backburner. Nimueh and her punishment would have to wait, as Arthur had already reached the conclusion that she would be as likely to cave and turn him back to a human as she was to bend her back to anything. The firm would have to wait as well, and Arthur hoped desperately if a little begrudgingly that whatever the doppleganger was who had assumed his life would be able to manage the roles of a VP of the political consultancy and integrated legal firm. He would abandon his royal duties, would put a pause on his partying ways, would hope to God that Morgana didn't interact too much with his step-in because she was as intuitive as a weasel, and Arthur would fix this.

He would. He had to.

So instead of demanding, instead of offering a scathing reply to Merlin's question and struggling to role his amphibian eyes, Arthur bit down upon his pride and attempted cordiality. "If I could, I would much prefer the, ah, indoors. And if I could impress upon your company in an attempt to seek your assistance further and convince you of my sincerity that I would – I would very much appreciate it."

The words tasted bitter on Arthur's tongue. He wasn't one to ask for help, to ask for anything, and apologising even in such a roundabout fashion as to digress from his previous attempts was like swallowing soap. But he managed, and Merlin actually appeared contemplative for it. He regarded Arthur with his smile dying into less open amusement and more consideration before nodding slowly.

"Alright, Arthur," he said. "Just for a little while though."

Arthur had to bite back on the urge to retort that no, _not_ for a little while but until he was _fixed_ , and inclined his head slightly. "Until I can convince you, yes."

Merlin only shook his head and, delicately reaffirming his hold upon Arthur in a way that wasn't as discomforting as it could have been, started away from the round yard. "Yeah, alright. Till you can convince me then. I'll see if I can steal a spray bottle from the greenhouse or something."

Arthur didn't know what he meant by that but settled for ignoring the words entirely. To swaying to the gentle motion of Merlin's step and ignoring the increasing discomfort of his drying skin. To peer before himself as they made their way towards where he could only assume was an actual, real house and pray that it wasn't a ramshackle 'ranch' as Merlin had jokingly insinuated.

Merlin didn't believe him. _Obviously_ he didn't believe. Arthur was indignant, but when he thought about it he really could see where he was coming from. If a frog appeared and somehow managed to tell him he was a prince, he wouldn't believe them for a second either. He'd probably crush it beneath his fist as an ungodly spawn of satan for its ability to talk.

At least Merlin hadn't done that.

* * *

The house was beautiful. Really beautiful, in a way entirely different to the castle Arthur had all but grown up in. Arthur hadn't realised how disturbed he'd felt at the prospect of living in an actual ranch until the possibility was erased.

The house was gorgeous, though. Perched atop the incline across a seat of flatness, it bore the visage of an old-style farmhouse, with pale walls and small windows, a grey, slatted roof and sprawling extensions. It was large, could likely house a substantial family, and it was...

It was a house, not a ranch. Thank fuck it wasn't a ranch.

In his first days of habitation in the Emerson house, Arthur became acquainted with the by no means little farmhouse. From the stretch of the pebbled drive that shifted into a dirt track into the distance drawing away from the house itself, to the sedate gardens hunkered peacefully amidst lazily reclining chairs and tables boasting potted orchids and the greenhouses around the back of the house that were large enough to be constituted individual buildings themselves. They were cluttered with a surplus of plants that Arthur neither knew nor cared enough about to recognise, a collection of wooden chairs that looked hand carved, an above-ground stone-carved pond spread with a curtain of lilies and another smaller one bubbling with a small fountain. The primary greenhouse even held a self contained living room of sorts with sagging old couches and a cluster of botany books in a minimalistic bookcase that sat alongside a room that reeked too strongly of dirt and fertiliser to be anything but the tool shed.

Arthur had become very familiar with that particular greenhouse in the first week of his time at the Emerson house. Cordially demand as he would to live within the house like a civilised person, it became quickly apparent that his need for a water source forbade such living standards. It was demeaning to sleep in the lily pond of a night but... he managed. Somehow.

That didn't mean that he hadn't seen inside the house. It too was unexpectedly yet blessedly beautiful, though of a different sort to the old-fashioned impression of the exterior. Wide rooms, tall, old-style ceilings, hallways unnecessarily long and too many rooms for the permanent residents that Arthur had only recently come to realise amounted to an unimpressive two. Polished wooden floors permeated almost every room beneath thick rugs that looked as old as the house itself except for in the living room of natural stone. But the furnishings themselves appeared to have been outfitted to suit modern comforts, from the casually sleek kitchen to the deep, sagging and well-used couches that rings a fireplace in the living room.

Arthur wasn't sure how much he liked it. Even if he recognised it as beautiful – as homely, even – it was cluttered in a way that he wasn't familiar with in the slightest, personalised in such a way that Arthur and his family had never been partial to. There was mess strewn across every kitchen surface one hour only to disappear as though vanquished from thin air the next. Unmatched boots lined the walls beside the front door, unused jackets or discarded t-shirts, even the odd towel on occasion, adorning the backs of chairs or at times simply lying like a dead animal in the centre of the hallway. Open books assumed the seats on the couch cushions, the television was left murmuring in one room to compete with a radio in another, streaks of dirt led in a trail from the front door more often than not with the impression of worker's boots. All of it was unfamiliar to Arthur in a way that he assumed must be a result of living without house services.

He really wasn't sure if he liked it or not. Minimalism was a product of the residence of the royal family, only more heartily impressed by his sister Morgana and her severe enforcing of tidiness rules. That trend was one Arthur had assumed when he'd moved into his own private apartment. The Emerson house was different, and no, Arthur wasn't sure if he liked it particularly.

Unfortunately, the times he did spend indoors – as much as he could to stick like glue to Merlin's side in pursuit of his self-assigned goals – were somewhat limited due to his risk of dehydration. Merlin did offer an alternative solution but...

Arthur would _not_ be sprayed in the face by a spray bottle.

Merlin hadn't been making a joke when he'd suggested as much to Arthur that first day. As they'd trekked up from the round yard, leaving Mordred in their wake and affording Arthur his first glimpse of the not-ranch house, he was similarly introduced to the greenhouses for the first time. Merlin slipped through the doors of the largest to a barely audible creak of hinges and Arthur was flooded with the warm, heady scent of damp leaves, rich earth and the flavour of concentrated sunlight filtering through the tinted glass overhead. Only to be promptly dumped into his as-then-unmet lily pond.

It felt good. The coolness and ease of water rippling over his skin seemed to seep into Arthur and invigorate his limbs, relieving him of aches that he'd resolutely ignored in favour of convincing the only person who might be able to help him to do so. That didn't mean he would stand for such treatment, however. Surfacing instantly, Arthur flung himself from the delicious coolness only the stone edge of the pond in a splutter. "Merlin, you bastard!"

Merlin glanced over his shoulder towards Arthur from where he'd already crossed the cluttered, plant and pot-strewn room towards what Arthur would only later realise was the tool shed. He flashed Arthur a wide, dimpled smile, a smile that Arthur was rapidly coming to realise was almost a permanent fixture of his face. "Don't give me that, you were thirsty," he said, eyes flashing golden once more.

"So you dumped me in a pond?" Arthur seethed, hopping from the edge of the pond onto the stone floor of the greenhouse. He landed neatly, the drop that would have likely killed a human ineffective and the potential damage to his limbs avoided. That, Arthur supposed, was one of the only areas of superiority a frog's body held over a humans. "The prospect of offering a cool drink didn't cross your mind instead?"

Merlin shrugged, disappearing through the simple wooden door of the shed and into a dark interior. "Well, I'm pretty sure that frogs drink through their skin," he called behind him.

Arthur paused mid-step – or more correctly mid-hop – at Merlin's words. Well, he supposed there was probably a basis for such an assumption, though he'd never had an interest or need for such interest in frogs before. True, it was common knowledge that a frog required water, and Arthur had been confronted with the seriousness of that reality in his past month of frog life, but he'd never really considered that it was because they actually drank through their skin. But then, even after such a brief dunk, a sparse few moments of immersion in the pond, Arthur would admit he was feeling better. Much better, as though his dehydration had indeed been alleviated somewhat.

Arthur wouldn't give Merlin the satisfaction of admitting him correct, but in that moment the reality that had gradually been instilling itself upon him, that Merlin might not be quite as goofily idiotic and blissfully carefree as he'd first assumed, that he might actually know a little about the animals he spoke to, settled upon him more firmly. Arthur had already decided that he didn't like the young man he'd been forced to attach himself to as much because he was as utterly different to Arthur as anything, but such a possibility might be beneficial. Maybe.

His faith in his newfound and begrudgingly accepted companion dissipated moments later however when, hopping through the dark doorway after Merlin, Arthur was shot in the face. An entirely undignified squawk sounded from his throat as he stumbled back with a face full of water, droplets scattering down his skin in a mess. Merlin's subsequent laughter met his surprise.

Glaring as much as he could, Arthur steadied himself and blinked up at where Merlin stood not three steps away from him in the centre of a room of shelves heavy in tools, buckets and bags of fertiliser. He was grinning once more, dimple even more pronounced, and in one hand he held a spray bottle pointed directly at Arthur. "What the hell was that for?"

Merlin only shrugged firing another shot of water in Arthur's direction that fell just short of him. His eyes flickered gold briefly with his reply; Arthur suspected it might have something to do with his animal-talking thing. "You need to stay hydrated, so it's either this or the pond."

Arthur stared up at him flatly. "You can't be serious."

"This or the pond, Froggy."

"It's Arthur, dammit. Do you suffer from memory loss or are you just as stupid as you look?"

Arthur wished he could take back his words as soon as he'd uttered them. Not because they weren't true, for Merlin was surely an idiot, even if he did know a little something about frogs, but because he couldn't afford to antagonise the only person who could understand him. The only person who could help him. Arthur's nerves were shattered, he was bordering on hysterical panic for his horrifying situation that he could only smother beneath affront and anger, and Merlin's foolishness and continued obtuseness wasn't helping in the slightest.

Thankfully, however, Merlin didn't appear upset for his words. He only shrugged once more and crossed the room towards Arthur, squatting down before him with elbows dropping onto his knees. Was he really as large as he appeared to Arthur in that moment, or was it merely his diminutive perspective? Arthur hoped it was the latter, because when he was human again it would be much easier to show Merlin a thing or two if he wasn't the equivalent of an admittedly lanky giant.

"You don't seem to understand that you're a frog," Merlin said, smirking in a way that somehow seemed more amused than condescending. It was hardly even condescending at all, really, and Arthur wondered how he managed that. He'd certainly never been capable of assuming such an expression before, nor had he ever wanted to. "You can't be that young given how big you are. I mean, the frogs I've met often have delusions of grandeur when they're younger but most adults seem to become a little neurotic when they realise how fragile they are."

Lifting his chin, Arthur did his best to meet Merlin's gaze. That in itself was a little difficult given that his eyes were positioned somewhat awkwardly for a solely forward-facing direction, not to mention that Merlin towered over him, but he thought he managed well enough. "That's because I'm not a frog," he said slowly, deliberately, biting back his frustration. "How many times do I have to tell you that? I'm a -"

"You're a prince, yeah, I remember," Merlin said, propping his chin onto one palm and peering down at Arthur. "My memory isn't so bad that I'll forget something that you keep telling me over and over again."

He tilted his head slightly as he blinked down at Arthur. He wasn't exactly smiling anymore, but his good-humour was palpable. How could anyone be so incessantly happy all the time? .Arthur wondered sparingly if Merlin even had the capacity to be angry, or annoyed, or frustrated. He hadn't appeared in the least bit offended when Arthur had vented at him at any instance. All justifiable venting, because he was obviously dealing with an idiot, but Arthur knew himself well enough to acknowledge that he didn't deal quite half as well with other's anger. He usually just snapped right back.

Most people he knew did just the same - Morgana with her icy rage, his father in a biting, overriding demand, even Leon, his bodyguard and best friend in his quietly confrontational way. Merlin was a novelty to him in more than just his strange, impossible, golden-eyed magic. Arthur wasn't sure if he liked that or not either.

Harrumphing – or at least attempting such a sound of disgruntlement that he wasn't sure he managed – Arthur straightened in his squat. It was undignified, that he could sit little other way than a crouch, but his legs simply didn't work otherwise. "Well, that's something you have in your favour, then. :earning by repetition. I'll make a note of it."

Merlin did smile again at that, unnecessarily widely, and nodded an instant later. "Yeah, you do that. I'm sure your literary skills are up to the task."

"They most certainly are," Arthur replied indignantly. The urge to profess more, to chase after his attempt to convince Merlin of his humanity beneath the frog skin, was difficult to suppress. "But you're distracting from the topic at hand. You will not shoot me with a fucking water gun."

"It's called a spray bottle, sire," Merlin said, and somehow even his mockery seemed more amused and light-hearted than such a typically humiliating verbalisation would suggest. "You're awfully persistent in your entitlement."

"I'm entitled because I'm a -" Arthur cut himself off and it wasn't only because he saw Merlin's lips quiver in rising amusement. He abruptly heard how it sounded, how he'd known it would sound and yet had most of his life pointedly ignored. A petulant, spoilt brat. Arthur wasn't a spoilt brat; he was arrogant, he would admit, and chased what he wanted unerringly because by rights it should be his because he wanted it. Not so much because he was a prince but because he as a person was entitled to what he wanted.

The unvoiced motto, to 'take every chance and every opportunity', rose in Arthur's mind. He'd stuck by that motto for years and he wasn't about to change it now. He would just... he'd just have to change his tactics a little bit to obtain it. Such wasn't exactly Arthur's forte but he would manage. He'd do just about anything to return to being a human.

Uttering a sigh that sounded more like a garbled croak, Arthur bit his tongue once more. "If you would, do not spray me again."

"I'll put in on the misty setting," Merlin assured him and, still crouching, began twisting the nozzle of the spray bottle. "Don't worry, it'll feel less like machine gun fire with this."

"No," Arthur said shortly. "Don't spray me. P-please."

Merlin stopped in his twisting and glanced up at Arthur. An eyebrow slowly rose. "You haven't had to say that much before, have you?"

"Say what?" Arthur replied, though he knew to what Merlin referred. His difficulty with saying 'please' wasn't a royalty thing, for Morgana could certainly say it easily enough when she needed to, but more of an Arthur thing. He didn't like to think about his own character flaws but that one... Yes, that was one of them.

"Please," Merlin supplied, stating the obvious. He continued before Arthur could reply, however. "You know that if you don't want to get sprayed then you'll have to stay outside near the pond most of the time."

"I –"

"Because otherwise you'll start feeling sick and lethargic and I'm just going to bring you back to the greenhouse anyway." In a gesture that Arthur didn't realise would ease his nerves until he did it, Merlin lowered the spray bottle to the ground beside him and propped his elbow onto his knee, his chin into his palm once more. "Why you want to come inside I have no idea but whatever. I don't mind."

Dammit, Arthur wanted to correct him once more. He wanted so desperately to inform Merlin of the very obvious reason why he didn't want to sleep another day outside like a stray dog than he'd already been forced to endure. But he was rapidly reaching the decision not to use the words 'I'm a prince' anymore than he already had. Merlin might remember through repetition but he clearly didn't learn from it. More's the pity. Arthur would likely simply grow more and more frustrated with him by the moment if he allowed himself to become vexed with Merlin's persisting ignorance.

Before he could reply, however, a call from the greater greenhouse drew Merlin's attention from him. "Hey, Merls! Where've you disappeared to?"

Merlin rose to his feet and stepped over – quite literally over – Arthur and out of the tool shed. He slipped through the doorway without a backwards glance, leaving Arthur to pause indignantly at his abrupt absence before following after him.

That was how he met Gwaine and Will.

Gwaine was a swagger of a man, overlong hair almost as dark as Merlin's falling to his shoulders and stubble thick on his cheeks. The grin he wore as he crossed the greenhouse, easy and friendly, wide and crinkling the corners of his eyes, was the sort that Arthur recognised as being that of someone genuinely friendly to just about anyone they happened across. He walked in every inch of that swagger of his, arms swaying, almost sashaying as he strode across the greenhouse like he owned it.

On the other hand, Will seemed to slump into every step. Not lethargically, exactly, but with a very definite trudge, as though following in Gwaine's wake was an arduous task. He wore a bored, almost surly expression, eyes hooded as he stared at the back of Gwaine's head. A crop of dirty blond hair made him look something of a mess, spiking all over the place, but at least he lacked the stubble that adorned Gwaine's face. Arthur had never abided anything but the clean-shaved.

"Can you assure Gwaine that Mordred didn't kill you on your ride and take himself back to the round yard, neatly locking the gate behind himself?" Will said, thus introducing Arthur to Gwaine.

Gwaine paused in step and glanced over his shoulder towards Will. "Willy, that horse is a menace. It's very possible that he could have," he said, introducing Will in turn.

"What did he do?" Merlin asked, stopped several steps from the tool shed and folding his arms loosely across his chest as the two other young men, both of whom appeared no older than he, approached him. "Were you antagonising him by any chance? You did call devil's spawn earlier this morning."

"I did nothing of the sort," Gwaine objected just as Will nodded with a small smirk towards Merlin and said, "He asked Mordred where you were when we were looking for you and stupidly tried to touch his head."

"You know," Gwaine said with a huff, "for most horses, touching their head isn't an excuse to try to eat my fingers."

"Well, Mordred isn't like most horses," Merlin said, and Arthur could hear the smile in his voice even if he couldn't see it from where he stood a little behind him.

"Yeah, I'll say. He's devil's spawn."

"He just doesn't like you. Why were you trying to talk to him anyway? You know he can't understand you, even if he is smart."

"He was looking for conversation of a level that could equal his own," Will said. "Unfortunately, he found Mordred's superior."

Gwaine shrugged, apparently not offended in the slightest, which Arthur silently credited the man. Or maybe he was just a simpleton like Merlin was. "What can I say, Mordred's a smart horse."

"That you can't understand," Merlin pointed out.

"I still maintain he can understand me."

"He can't."

"He might be able to."

"He can't," Merlin assured him. "Trust me, he whinges about the unintelligible blathering of every human on the estate enough for me to be under no misunderstandings."

Gwaine launched himself into another spiel about something or other just as Will spoke up once more, but in that moment Arthur decided he'd had quite enough of being ignored. Hopping fully to Merlin's and dropping a web-fingered hand onto his boot, he cleared his throat in a way that, humiliatingly, sounded like nothing more than an overly loud croak. "Merlin, if you'd do me the courtesy of not ignoring me it would be appreciated."

Merlin glanced down at him and his eyebrow rose in accompaniment of his smile. "You'd appreciate that?"

"Don't make me regret my words."

"No, not at all. I'm simply admiring your character development after such a short time of knowing you." For some stupid reason his smile actually looked happy, almost proud. Arthur couldn't even fathom it. What the hell? Why was he so goddamn happy? "Good for you. That's better than most frogs manage in such a short time."

Arthur withheld the urge to reprimand him for his condescension, his reference to Arthur's frog status, the casually and likely unintentionally worldly impression he presented with his mention of frog interfaces in general. "Well, I, unlike some, am a person of intelligence. Far more so than your friend who tries to talk to horses who clearly don't understand him."

Merlin's smile widened briefly before it caught, shifting into a frown. Then incredulity slowly raised his eyebrows. "Wait, hold on. You understood what Gwaine said?"

Before Arthur could reply, he was interrupted by Gwaine and Will as they invaded his personal space close enough to reach him with a single step. He was abruptly very aware of their own boots. "What's that?" Gwaine asked. "Someone say my name?"

"Congratulations, Gwaine, after twenty years of life you'd learned to recognise your name," Will drawled, speaking in criticism of Gwaine in what Arthur was rapidly deducing was his primary mode of communication.

"Thank you, Willy, I can hear the sincerity in your compliment," Gwaine replied, once more seemingly not offended in the slightest.

Merlin hardly seemed to hear their exchange, replying to Gwaine's words with a note of the same incredulity he'd worn before. "This frog can understand what you guys are saying."

In that moment, Arthur came to realise a number of things. That Merlin's ability to speak to animals wasn't exactly a secret. That his friends knew and apparently accepted such an ability with little difficulty or question. And that they'd apparently acquired an unexpected respect for animals as a result, for both young men both turned their attention down to Arthur and for the first time in a month with the exception of Merlin, Arthur found himself viewed as more than simply a dumb beast. Maybe not a human, but it was a long sight better than it had been.

Gwaine, who Arthur had deduced was the noisiest of the lot of them, even more chatty than Merlin, took a step closer far too intrusive upon Arthur's personal space and bent over him. He looked terrifyingly huge up close, and it was all Arthur could do to withhold the urge to flinch. "Seriously? How does that work?"

"Animals don't understand human words," Will said, adding to rather than countering Gwaine's words. He frowned at Merlin as though Merlin had presented him with a confounding puzzle.

"They don't," Merlin agreed with a nod. "Which is why it's so weird." Then his smile returned with a touch of something almost mischievous to it as he gestured down towards where Arthur sat at his side. "But don't worry, he's not really a frog. He's a prince. That's probably why he's the exception."

For a heartbeat neither Gwaine nor Will spoke, staring at Merlin blankly as Gwaine straightened. Then they both erupted into barks and snorts of laughter, words of "A frog prince!" and "How many frogs does this make now, Merlin?" barely intelligible through the guffaws.

In that moment, Arthur decided he didn't like Gwaine or Will. Merlin was practically agreeable in comparison.

In some ways, however, it was a relief that they knew. They clearly didn't accept that Arthur was a prince any more than Merlin did, but it was a relief to be viewed as more than just a stupid animal. Arthur had never considered that such a liberty would be anything but afforded to him, but upon receiving it once more it seemed like the greatest gift in the world.

But no, Arthur didn't like Gwaine or Will. Even in the following days of their company as he followed Merlin around his house and the property – when he could, for distance from a constant water source and the speed of a racing horse inhibited his constant accompaniment – Arthur still hadn't taken to them, despite the fact that they treated him as though he understood what they were saying. At times they even exchanged conversation through Merlin as their go-between, though after the first few attempts that had ended in teasing and jibes Arthur hadn't deigned to continue to respond to such.

"So you're really a prince? Which wicked witch did you piss off, exactly?"

"I've got to wonder, what's that like changing from a human to a frog? Struggling with some translational issues, are you?"

"Wait, Arthur? As in Prince Arthur of Cardiff? Fuck no, no way. Arthur's definitely taller than you."

Considering how often Gwaine and Will appeared to butt heads, something that Arthur became only increasingly aware of, they were certainly more than capable of combining forces to tease the shit out of him. It was enough to drive Arthur mad, to urge him to leave Merlin's side and seek the admittedly – though only to himself – comforting coolness and dampness of the greenhouse lily pond.

He didn't, though. Arthur had a job to do, and that job was convincing a certain someone that he was, in fact, human. Even if he didn't quite manage to convince him of the prince part, at least that would be something. But Merlin didn't seem to have any interest in understanding. He all but ignored Arthur entirely but to exchange idle conversation and persist in slowly and deliberately reminding Arthur that he should 'get over this prince fixation because it'll only upset you in the end'. He made it sound like he'd heard it happen before. Arthur didn't want to think about that possibility so much.

But he followed Merlin nonetheless. He made his way through the house, through any open window of a morning and hopped up the stairs to the highest bedroom of steepled roof and just-short-of-comfortable warmth and made sure he was there when Merlin woke up, something that Will had said would have been creepy if he wasn't a frog. Arthur ignored that interruption.

He made an effort to join Merlin and the rest of the house's residents at breakfast, making an equal effort to attempt to consume human food even though it felt like he was chewing cardboard most of the time. Gwaine certainly found his amusement in observing him.

He tagged along behind Merlin in an entirely demeaning manner as Merlin went about his daily duties which subsisted of anything from helping the stable hands to conduct a sweeping clean through the stables to assisting the farrier with re-shodding and patching up precariously damaged fences. At least once a day Merlin would take one of the horses out for a ride, almost always bareback and without reins because apparently he forsook the very practical saddle and bridle in favour of using his mouth for direction.

Arthur would be left behind for those trips. Or at least he was at first, until he demanded in as much of a simple request as he could manage that Merlin bring him along with him. Merlin was sceptical at first, amusedly sceptical from the quiver of a smile upon his lips, but he'd allowed it. Arthur wasn't sure if he appreciated it or not that he was so lenient in his allowances; Merlin seemed to be pretty lenient with every animal, horses and dogs included, and Arthur didn't want to be grouped with the animals.

Merlin did allow it, though, as always asking what had become almost a standard question. "Why do you even want to come?"

Arthur didn't reply that it was so he could stick to Merlin like glue and remind him through sheer persistence if nothing else of his humanity. Instead, he attempted a shrug that failed dismally and simply said, "I miss riding horses. Probably my favourite horse back in Cardiff, Viktor, is a far superior steed to most of those you've got here, I must say, but even so..."

And he would continue, offering as much detail about the subject from the perspective of Prince Arthur as possible. It was the same with every question asked of him.

"Why do you always come into my room in the morning?" "I miss sleeping in a bed. Of course, my own was far larger than the shoebox you use, but yours is comfortable enough..."

"Don't eat that. Frogs aren't supposed to eat that." "I've a longing for breakfast cereal that my current taste buds won't acknowledge. I'm more partial to croissants in the mornings but..."

"What are you doing? Can you actually read over my shoulder?" "Of course I can. Though I've not much of an interest in medieval fiction novels. My tastes lean more towards classics, with my favourite being..."

And even, "It doesn't really bother me all that much to have a frog follow me into the shower, but do you mind? For someone so knowledgeable you seem to lack a filter for privacy." To which Arthur would reply, "It's been so long since I've had any sort of hot water submersion. I'm more of a shower than a bath person myself but even so..." In that instance at least, however, Arthur ceded to Merlin's amused query and allowed him his privacy. He might cling to him like a shadow but that didn't mean wanted to see what was beneath his clothes.

It was a struggle at times to bite back upon the urge to snap, to declare in a shout that "I am Prince Arthur, dammit, understand and acknowledge me and help turn me back!" He knew it wouldn't work, as much because he'd initially tried as because he'd come to the realisation that Merlin seemed to view him with insuppressible amusement at every turn. He'd likely find Arthur's indignation just as funny.

So instead, Arthur continued with his less aggressive attempts at convincing. It was tiresome, and by the end of the week he was thoroughly exhausted with playing nice. Gwaine and Will had lessened their teasing of him with the gradual minimising of their biting banter with one another, something that Arthur had come to realise held little sincerity to it. They actually appeared friendly, if in a sort of derogatory manner, though Arthur wasn't blind. He'd noticed that their primary similarity lay in their friendship with Merlin. Even without asking it was apparent that Merlin was their common point, that he was considered the closer in their friendship. From what Arthur could tell, Will was his older friend, of the quieter and more laid back kind, while Gwaine seemed to monopolise the attention in the room and Merlin's in particular in what appeared to be a of jovially touchy-freely manner. He seemed to have an arm around Merlin's shoulders or to be practically sitting on top of him at every possible instance.

Merlin didn't seem to mind. He didn't seem to care all that much when Gwaine and Will argued, or when Gwaine threw himself on him, or when Will in a fit of melancholia that seemed characteristic of him, would complain about the barest source of disgruntlement. Merlin just seemed a laid back kind of person, something that Arthur attributed to his slow lifestyle.

He'd learned a lot about Merlin over that first week, however, and even more so by the end of the second. He learned that he was an early riser; a ridiculously early riser at times, and often beat Arthur into wakefulness. He learned that he was always in a fit of constant motion, always doing something, except in the moments when he seemed to short of his energy surplus and abruptly cease functioning like a wind-up toy that had lost its power, only to spring into activity again with remarkable speed after a brief respite. It was exhausting to keep up with him, even when considering the fact that Arthur had significantly shorter legs than him.

Merlin was a hard worker, and not only in his daily chores and the maintenance of the farm. It didn't take Arthur more than a day to discover that such extended to his academia. He was a student, Arthur came to realise, of Equine and Veterinary Science, and seemed to deliberately allocate at least an hour a day to reading or studying course content despite the fact that Arthur knew it to be the holidays for university students. He was certainly more studious than Gwaine, who Arthur happened to catch word of studied law. He was slightly horrified by the notion, and more than a little baffled as to how Gwaine had managed to slot into that degree. Was he really smart? Impossibly, some how, smart?

Either way, it was apparent that Merlin was intelligent, too. Intelligent and studious, even if he was simultaneously an idiot. Arthur supposed... he supposed that was a good thing. Or at least it would be if Arthur could manage to convince Merlin that he was a human. It would require intelligence to find someone ridiculously inclined to kiss a frog. Had he been approached with such a proposition, Arthur knew he certainly wouldn't oblige. The idea was simply laughable. No one in their right mind would do so. Arthur tried not to think about that too much. He was already struggling to maintain a hold on his anger enough to drive away the despair that lingered on the edges of his awareness.

He did think his efforts were working, however. Perhaps not in convincing Merlin of his humanity, but regarding his intelligence he considered he was managing well enough. Merlin seemed to look at him with almost as much curiosity as amusement in increasing degrees the longer Arthur followed in his footsteps. He even acknowledged it at times.

By the end of the second week, Arthur was thoroughly grounded in something of a routine. At night he would retreat to the pond for a lengthy immersion sessions that generally resulted in brief sleep, before taking himself up to Merlin's room in the early hours of the morning to prod him with attempts at prevailing upon him the truth. Then he would follow him to breakfast, choke down on whatever sliver of toast or waffles or cereal he could manage in a display of his inclination towards human food, before following Merlin once more throughout his daily chores. His trips back into the greenhouse when he began to feel so sick from dehydration that his vision would begin to blur gradually decreased as he made do with any water source that didn't make him feel physically sick to touch: the hose, the ponds, even the horses' water troughs provided they'd been refilled recently. It was that or risk abandoning his place in Merlin's shadow until he could find him again. At times such would take hours.

But it paid off. Not noticeably or suddenly, but it did. And such payoff was evidenced at the end of his second weekend at the Emerson estate when Arthur was choking down a bite of Merlin's vegan bacon. It tasted even more like cardboard than the rest of the food he'd consumed, though at least it didn't turn his gut quite as much as the toast did.

Gwaine and Will were chatting – actually chatting with a semblance of amicability – at one end of the table as they ate, but Merlin had paused halfway through his own breakfast. He'd lowered his knife and fork and was staring at where Arthur perched on the edge of the extensive dining table with a slight frown that Arthur at first didn't register. When he did, he raked his mind for his previous words, for what had been confusing or vexing, though in Merlin's case he likely wasn't even annoyed in the slightest. He couldn't think of anything particularly noteworthy except perhaps...

"There's nothing wrong with not wanting to go out to parties every night," Merlin finally said, crossing his arms across the table before him and leaning towards Arthur. His frown deepened slightly, though it did appear to be more in confusion than irritation or affront. "There are other ways to enjoy yourself."

Ah. That was it. Arthur could have guessed that Merlin wasn't exactly the partying type from his attitude if not the direct evidence, even if it did seem such a foreign concept to him. For Arthur, he'd gone out every other night for as long as he could remember, clubbing or to pubs, to formal events or simply with a crowd of not-quite-friends to make merry. True, he didn't always enjoy himself, and sometimes he had to question his motives when he woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and couldn't open his eyes but to squint for a solid hour after awakening. Work and the duties of a royal didn't exactly accommodate a roaring nightlife.

But even so: 'take every chance and every opportunity'. Arthur wouldn't miss the chance to see something, to try something knew, to experience everything humanly possible. He couldn't.

Before he could reply, however, Merlin was continuing. "Why are you pushing me to believe you're Prince Arthur so badly, anyways?" He said, frown deepening in further confusion. "If you were going to choose a British prince, surely Prince Elyan's the more exemplary of the two."

Arthur bit back the angry retort that threatened to leap instinctively from his lipless mouth. It was unfair, rude, unjust that someone of such inferior status would dare to say as much, but no, he didn't say that. Arthur wouldn't say that, for even if his instinct was to defend himself he wasn't so ignorant as to mistake how the rest of the world saw him. At least, he acknowledged it even if he sought to ignore it. The prince of England was indeed a far better example of how a royal was supposed to act.

Arthur didn't care. He really didn't. He lived by the moment and for himself, despite the fact that he had a duty, a responsibility, to his country in being its prince. And yes, it did make him feel guilty at times but...

Every chance. Every opportunity.

"It's not as though I'm choosing," Arthur replied instead, and he could hear the derision in his tone. Honestly, even after two weeks Merlin was maintaining his ignorance. And yes, Arthur might not have believed it if a frog up and told him the same as he was preaching, but it was different because it was _him_ in this instance. "I am Prince Arthur. It doesn't matter that Prince Elyan is more exemplary. It doesn't matter to the reality of the situation."

Merlin stared at him for a moment longer, stared and frowned, before he abruptly rose to his feet. "Here. Come with me for a second," he said, holding out his hand for Arthur in an invitation to climb into his palm. Arthur didn't hesitate; he had two weeks ago when presented with such, when Merlin hadn't just picked him up without question and nothing but a "Sorry, but you're too slow and this is easier". Since, Arthur had come to accept the fact that he was slower on his four legs and hopping than Merlin was on two or, when riding, on horseback. It was humiliating, but slightly less so given that neither Merlin nor Gwaine nor Will seemed to consider it so.

"Where are you off to?" Gwaine called after them as Merlin turned from the room.

"I'll just be a tick. Back in a second," Merlin replied over his shoulder. Then he strode through the hallway in the general direction of what Arthur knew as being his bedroom.

Merlin's bedroom was the highest in the house. It was a large room, if not nearly as large as Arthur's at the palace, and yet contrary to what its lesser space would suggest suitable it was more cluttered. Cluttered in personalisation, Arthur realised, in what was slightly disconcerting to behold. He'd never been one for mess, and though Merlin's room wasn't messy exactly it was certainly more so than Arthur's was. Had been. He hadn't lived in the castle for years, resided there only in the brief interludes of several days when his family was required to cohabitate.

Merlin's room was thick with furniture, with books spilling over his desk that nearly buried his laptop, with shelving holding all forms of oddments from stone carvings to glass trinkets that didn't suit Arthur's preconceived idea of a farm boy. A basket of old laundry had half of its clothes spilling from inside onto the floor of its corner in the room, and though Merlin apparently religiously made his bed in the morning it was only carelessly done, with a very distinct slept-in impression left behind.

Like so many things about Merlin and his house, his lifestyle, his everything, Arthur wasn't sure if he liked it or not.

Merlin took him to the desk, dropping him beside his laptop in one of the few spaces free of books and stationary and general clutter. He dropped into the seat and flipped the computer open, booting it awake.

"What are you doing?" Arthur said, because he had never been one to wait patiently and in silence. Besides, he'd already conducted his convincing act with Merlin pertaining to the computer; he'd prevailed everything he could of his technological knowledge onto him down to the model of his laptop and the software he primarily used for work. Arthur was satisfied to note that he appeared to have surprised Merlin somewhat by his knowledge. Not enough to convince him, perhaps, but enough to earn the title 'possibly the smartest and most human-obsessed frog I've ever met' and was he sure he hadn't come across another animal-speaking person before? Arthur was torn between satisfaction and indignation for the situation, a feeling he'd found to arise quite often when he was around Merlin.

"I wanted to show you something," Merlin said, and as soon as the computer had booted itself up he was typing away at the keyboard with darting fingers. Arthur had found the sight slightly captivating since he'd first observed it, as much for the longing he'd felt at his inability to do the same as because Merlin had unexpectedly long, narrow and graceful fingers. It wasn't the first time Arthur thought to himself that such was wasted working with horses. He should be an artist or something. Or a piano player.

His attention was distracted, however, when the first video clip Merlin pulled up began to play. His gaze immediately shifted towards the screen, settling upon the image of himself as he spoke centre screen. The sight of himself as a human, several years younger than he was now, was almost painful to behold.

It was an interview, that much was apparent from the setting, from his seating arrangement of slightly to the right, facing a diagonal on a boringly blank backdrop of neutral beige wall. He couldn't remember the interview exactly but –

"...think it's acceptable for a member of the royal family to be so carefree with his ways?" The off-screen interviewer, a woman with a sharp voice, was saying. "Many people see royalty as role models. How do you reconcile your behaviour with –?"

"I don't think it's a matter of reconciling my behaviour," Arthur saw himself interrupt. "Yes, I am the Prince of Wales, and yes, every move I make is witnessed by the public. But that doesn't mean I should have to be ashamed of myself for behaviours that are, realistically, no worse than those most young adults conduct."

"You don't think you should be held to different expectations than others given you're royal status?" The interviewer asked.

Arthur on the screen shook his head. "Why should I be? What's the use in attempting to present a façade to the world that is, in its essence, exactly that?" His image shrugged. "I act as I want, I do what I please just as every other autonomous adult in the world does, and yes, there are going to be people who object. But I can't do anything about their opinions. I won't."

"Not even when those opinions trend towards the majority?"

"Not even then. Let's face it, I could act like a model person and step not a toe out of line, but it would all be an act. And then, in situations where I was found to act 'improperly' simply because I was behaving like every other person my age is, the uproar would be only be greater for it."

"But considering your most recent exploits at the St. George Charity event..."

Arthur stoppered his ears. He remembered that interview now. How could he have forgotten, even when he'd been in so many that they all seemed to run together nowadays? He remembered that one because it was in response to his father's reprimand of his behaviour and afterwards included. Arthur wasn't especially proud of the volatility in his response, even if it had been truthful. He'd been younger then and –

Merlin clicked the video to another of Arthur seated alongside his sister at some ceremony or other. It looked like a hidden camera, and likely was become no formal and royal-friendly filmed would splay the image of him half reclined and on the verge of sleep across the media. Or maybe they would and that was the problem. He was wearing sunglasses and yes, he was almost asleep, head slightly bowed and nodding off. Arthur could remember that because Morgana had never let him live it down. Not even five years later. He'd had a hangover and was in an appalling mood and –

Another video, of another interview of himself with his sister as they descended into an argument. Morgana had tried to patch it up but had eventually resigned herself to silence when Arthur had overridden her enough times, actually cussing at one point out of frustration. His father had chewed him up about that one too.

A clip of himself attending an event and ignoring the proceedings to flick through his phone. He was younger in that one too but...

In the rest of them he was older. There were clips snagged from parties, of his drunken not-quite-friends as they cackled into a camera and slung their arms around his shoulders. There were those of stumbling from clubs and smacking aside the phones that sought to record his moments of drunkenness, of being caught in more than one compromising position with partners that even looking at them through the computer screen Arthur couldn't put a name to.

He wasn't embarrassed. Not really. Nor did he regret his actions. Arthur had long ago resigned himself to the idea that it was either live for himself or live for the world, to take every opportunity and every chance that presented itself or to submit to a withdrawn, formulaic lifestyle that left him as little more than a dog on a leash. Those videos weren't who Arthur was exactly but they were what he let himself sometimes be, driven by pressuring utterances and unrealistic demands.

No, he wasn't embarrassed, but it was still never particularly pleasant to watch.

When one final video played – of a more recent interview highlighting his opinion on one particular philandering act that his father and Morgana both had chewed him up for – they stopped. Arthur stared at the stilled screen for a moment, a long moment, before he slowly turned to face Merlin.

For the first time, Arthur saw him as actually quiet. He wasn't smiling, and though he didn't appear upset there was a very definite subdued air about him. It was strange, because Arthur had never seen him particularly subdued in the face of anything over the past weeks. He was almost... no, he _was_ –

"Are you disappointed in me?"

Merlin hadn't been looking at Arthur. He was staring at the frozen image on the computer screen, lips slightly pursed and the barest hint of a frown touching his forehead. When Arthur spoke he dropped his gaze towards him, raising an eyebrow. "Disappointed? You mean in Prince Arthur?"

"In me," Arthur repeated. It didn't even anger him so much anymore that Merlin wouldn't acknowledge reality. Annoyed, yes, frustrated, most definitely, but not really anger. Arthur found he would only exhaust himself by maintaining such anger so consistently. "Are you disappointed in me?"

Merlin pursed his lips further as he turned back to the screen. "I don't think it's anyone's place to be disappointed really. Except for perhaps the prince's family, the King and stuff." Arthur found himself nodding. That at least they both agreed upon. But he was stilled once more when Merlin continued. "I guess it more just makes me a little bit sad."

Arthur blinked, confused. "Sad?" What part about what they'd seen was sad? Arthur was living the life. Why would Merlin -?

"I mean, on the one hand, the prince is royalty. He has responsibilities because of his name, and he should be a role model for a whole bunch of younger people – and older people too – but then on the other... he should also be allowed to do whatever the hell he wants, really. Most people his age pull shit like what he's done and get away with it just fine so..." Merlin trailed off with a shrug, and Arthur was left to stare at him in confusion. He'd just proclaimed what was practically an exact combination of the opinions of the world and Arthur both.

"What I think is sad," Merlin continued, "is that I can't imagine he'd be particularly happy with what he's doing."

Arthur felt himself frown even if it couldn't express itself upon his face. Not happy? What about those videos suggested he wasn't happy? "I'll have you know I'm very happy," he grumbled, disgruntled. Happiness was one of his main goals. How could Merlin even think of considering that he was anything but?

"Hm," Merlin murmured. "It just seems a sort of unhappy and a little bit of a lonely life, particularly jumping between lovers like that. I have to wonder if he's really happy with himself and the situation."

Slowly, Arthur drew his gaze back to the stilled image of himself on the screen. True, he didn't appear happy in that particular shot but that was because an interviewer was basically scolding him for any perceived promiscuity he conducted. What was wrong with that, though? Arthur sought pleasure and enjoyment wherever he was, and if it happened to be with more people than he could remember... well, Arthur's sex-life shouldn't really be anyone's concern but his own and his current partner's, should it?

"You seem to be under the misconception that serial monogamy isn't an enjoyable lifestyle," he said, turning back to Merlin and keeping his tone as expressionless as possible. It was difficult for though Merlin went about it in a different way, his words were still reminiscent of those he'd heard so many times before.

"The way they tell it it's not always monogamous."

"Shut up, Merlin."

A smile touched Merlin's lips before dying. He affixed Arthur with his slight frown once more, not pitying as his 'sadness' might suggest but more curious. "I just have to wonder why you'd want me to believe that you're him. Is it really better to be a prince that so many people disapprove of than a frog? You've certainly got fewer responsibilities as a frog, and depending on your mating choices I guess serial monogamy or whatever is pretty common amongst your species too."

Arthur flinched slightly at that thought – likening his sex-life to that of a frog truly was horrifying – before shaking his head. Or shaking it as much as he could, for frog necks weren't exactly conducive to that sort of gesture. "There's nothing wrong with having multiple partners," he said shortly, overlooking the muttering voice in his mind that always arose when he defended himself that reminded him that his inability to remember all their names wasn't exactly a respectable condition. "Are you honestly trying to tell me that you're not guilty of doing the same?"

Merlin's lips quirked slightly. "What, having multiple girlfriends?"

Well, not really just girlfriends but – "Yes."

Merlin was silent for a moment, his long fingers dancing without pressing upon the keys of his computer. They looked graceful, soft even, but Arthur knew from how often he'd been picked up by them that they were roughened, calloused in places. Not like his own. Or at least not how they'd been before he was a frog. As a frog, everything was fairly unpleasantly squishy.

"No, actually," Merlin finally said, his eyes flickering golden as they glanced towards Arthur. The sight was familiar now. "I've only ever had one girlfriend."

Arthur almost sighed aloud in understanding. Ah. So that was it. Was Merlin a 'one love a lifetime' sort of person? Was that why he was so disapproving of Arthur's actions? "You're still hung up her, then?" Arthur said, and couldn't help but let amusement touch his tone. "I'm assuming from your words that she's left you?"

Merlin stared unblinkingly at him for a long moment in a way that sobered Arthur of his smirking amusement immediately. "No," he said quietly. "Freya died about five years ago."

Arthur was rendered silent. All at once he felt like a heartless fool. Such wasn't exactly a position he found himself in often, was one he resolutely ignored accepting he felt, but for once it swept over him before he could suppress it. Arthur didn't know why, but for some reason with Merlin it felt... different. Perhaps because he'd been with him so much over the past few weeks, had gleaned an insight into the sincerity of his character that, while he was undeniably an idiot, was entirely genuine and heartfelt as well. Arthur had seen how much he cared for his mother, an affection that was greater than Arthur himself had felt for just about anyone, and that he showered upon his two friends in what was more often than not fond exasperation. He even viewed the hired stable hands with respect and camaraderie rather than the superiority of an employer. Arthur wasn't exactly used to doing the same. It wasn't like he considered those who worked for him inferior exactly, just that they were workers. Why should he have to go the extra leg for them?

But Merlin was different. He seemed to consider every single one of those around him – horses and Arthur included, even though he still infuriatingly saw him as a frog – as his equal. He very likely was still hung up on a girl who'd died when he was still a teenager. Was he the type to never move on? That was sad, far more so than Arthur's own apparently pitiful situation.

"I'm... I'm sorry for your loss," he said awkwardly. Arthur never had to commiserate with anyone in such a regard before, not outside of a formal and royal context.

Merlin gave a small shrug, his expression mild. Deceptively so? Arthur wasn't sure. "It was a long time ago."

"And you've never been with another girl since?" Arthur found himself asking. His curiosity simply got the better of him, spilling the words forth before he could contain them. Merlin was almost like a strange creature himself in that regard, at least to Arthur.

The glance that Merlin turned towards him was even more confusing given that Arthur could swear he saw a touch of amusement surface within it. "No. Never."

Arthur stared. For someone who had a new person on his arm every other night – he didn't do it on purpose exactly but that was just how it happened – such a notion was mind-boggling. Alien. "Fuck. How do you even...?"

Merlin was definitely amused now. He seemed to be struggling to withhold a smile. "Well, it might have something to do with the fact that I'm gay."

Arthur blinked. "Oh."

"Don't sound so surprised," Merlin said, finally letting his smile spill forth into a wide, dimpled grin. "Is it that hard to believe?"

Arthur instinctively tried to shake his head once more. He managed no better this time than before. "No, it's just that..." He wasn't homophobic, didn't consider himself such in the slightest, but – "I just didn't see it in you."

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Are you supposed to?"

"Supposed to what?"

"Be able to see it? Is there something about a gay person other than the gender of their partners that should suggest their preferences?"

Merlin didn't sound indignant but Arthur still found himself slightly flustered. "No, I - I didn't think that you should -"

"Be wearing a sign proclaiming my sexuality?" Merlin said, grin widening further. Any trace of melancholy had faded fully into amusement.

"I didn't say that," Arthur muttered. Shaking himself from his awkwardness, he drew the conversation to the topic at hand. They'd been talking about him, after all. "But surely you've had other male partners before."

"What, you mean boyfriends?" Merlin said, his smile teasing and flashing his dimple once more. "Yeah, I've had boyfriends."

"And yet you accuse me of –"

"Two," Merlin continued, overriding Arthur's indignation. "Hardly the plethora of partners you've had."

Arthur was about to respond, was about to splutter in heightened indignation, when he paused. Surprise and abrupt satisfaction welled within him. "You."

Merlin tipped his head slightly, peering at him curiously. "Me what?"

"You just acknowledged that I'm me," he said. Now that it had happened, Arthur only just realised that he hadn't entirely expected it to at all. Which was foolish as it was what he was, had been, striving for, but true nonetheless.

Merlin stared at him blankly for a moment, the smile slipping from his face in exchange for surprise. "Oh. Oops."

"You did, you -"

"Well, you kind of make a convincing argument, even if it is unrealistic."

If Arthur could have smiled he was sure he would be grinning in triumph. "So you finally believe me?"

"I can see you smiling," Merlin said, disconcertingly in synchrony with Arthur's thoughts. He rose from his seat, flipping his laptop closed and starting towards the door. He paused at the doorway and shot a distinctly amusedly raised eyebrow in Arthur's direction. "And no, I don't. Magic doesn't exist, Arthur. It's not possible to turn a human into a frog. You're good at trying to convince me, I'll give you that, but I'm not falling for it." Then he disappeared without a backwards glance.

Arthur was left to stare after him with abruptly deflated jubilation. That deflation shifted immediately into frustration once more, even more pronounced for its prior alleviation. With a curse, he leapt from the desk onto the floor and hopped in Merlin's wake. "Goddammit Merlin!" He called after him. Merlin's distant laughter was all the reply he received.

It wasn't until another half a week had passed that he made any profound progress, however. Merlin still slipped up sometimes, still called him Arthur as he'd demanded he be called and still at times referenced Prince Arthur as 'you', but he always pulled himself up for his error and seemed to perceive it more from a perspective of amusement than anything.

Arthur's saving grace came in the form of Merlin's mother.

Hunith Emerson was a short woman. Distinctly shorter than Merlin, but their similarities were pronounced nonetheless; it lay in the cheekbones, the colouration of dark hair and deep blue eyes, though hers didn't do the golden-flashing act. She had a southern Irish lilt to her words that Arthur had barely registered existed in Merlin's until he'd heard it in his mother.

More than that, however, Hunith possessed the same affability as Merlin. She was full of smiles, radiating an aura of warm welcomeness, and approached everyone with kindness and openness. She appeared young to have a twenty-something year old son, but even so Arthur was surprised at how actively she participated in the workings of the estate. She got her hands dirty with mending and cleaning, with grooming the horses and feeding and watering them, with meeting the clients who came to visit the horses they'd agisted on her estate. Arthur had likened Merlin to a wind-up toy, flooded with incessant energy until he lost his steam, and Hunith was just the same.

Really, they were so alike it was almost uncanny. Had Merlin been a woman, Arthur fathomed he would be Hunith's clone in another twenty years.

Most distinctly, however, Arthur noticed the fondness that Hunith held for her son that was returned at least equally by Merlin himself. Her face seemed to brighten every time she glanced in his direction, to spread into a smile even when it wasn't warranted – for really, what was so delightful about seeing Merlin crouched on his haunches and treated a leather bridle with his bare fingers as though a clothe was too inconsequential to use? Even if Arthur was a little distracted by it himself; he'd never seen men or women at work in such a setting before and found himself oddly distracted by it.

But Hunith seemed to find it Merlin himself that was solely a cause for joy. More often than not she would take herself to his side and assist him with whatever he was doing, even if he didn't need the help. They seemed to work fluidly, bouncing off one another with the surety of knowing and understanding the other's whereabouts and capabilities without comment. They were always seated side by side at the dining table, too, always simply seeming to gravitate into one another's space when in the same room, and Arthur on frequent occasions noted the brief touches, the fond strokes of a hand across a crown or a pat on the shoulder.

It might have seemed strange. It might have even appeared unnerving to witness as much, for surely parents and their children weren't supposed to demonstrate such compassion for one another, such almost codependency. It might have been strange but to Arthur he found himself almost wistful. He'd never had that kind of relationship, not with Morgana nor with his father, or if he had it was barely remembered moments he'd shared with his mother in the past. Those moments were so long ago, however, almost twenty years, that they were as likely to be dreams as memories.

Longing was what Arthur felt. He'd never missed his own mother, not really, except for in that moment.

Hunith was one of those who spoke through Merlin to Arthur the most. Naturally, given that he'd deduced she was one of only a handful of people who knew about Merlin's gift. But even so, she spoke to him more than Gwaine and Will, and when she did it was with a kind, compassionate tone, with genuine consideration for Arthur in his own right that, though they might speak to him, Gwaine and Will lacked. Arthur put it down to more experience with animal talk, given that Merlin had been living with her for longer, but by the same token he almost immediately decided that he liked her the most.

That favour only enhanced that day two and a half weeks after arriving at the Emerson estate. It was at the dining table, one of the few chances Arthur got to actually speak to Hunith in any form, and given that it Hunith invariably seated herself beside Merlin it was almost a certainty that they would exchange a word or two. Gwaine and Will were seated alongside Merlin's other side, embroiled in a conversation that was as much snide remarks and pokes with Vegg-laden forks as anything, and nearly drowned out Hunith's words. Arthur listened, though, as he struggled through his quarter of toast. She wasn't speaking to him but he heard her words and realisation struck him.

"... said I was sure we hadn't met before," Hunith was saying as she sliced her toast into quarters with dainty fingers. Arthur had been amused and similarly embarrassingly wistful to notice days before that she and Merlin did so identically. "That maybe I've just got one of those faces that crops up everywhere."

"Maybe it was Mamó?" Merlin suggested, taking a bit of his own toast. "Everyone says you look basically identical."

"Which would make you appear basically identical to your grandmother as well, would it?" Arthur muttered more to himself than to Merlin. Merlin ignored him.

Hunith nodded. "That's what I thought. She guessed before me, though, snaps her fingers and says, 'That's it! You look just like Dr MacMaloney". Apparently she was her midwife something like thirty years ago for her firstborn."

"Small world," Merlin said.

"Small world indeed," Hunith agreed.

Arthur paused in his own breakfast to blink up at Hunith in confusion. Only momentary confusion, however, as that sudden realisation flooded him. "Wait, you're Dr MacMaloney's daughter? Claire MacMaloney?"

Something about his tone, perhaps the sincerity of his surprise, must have drawn Merlin's attention. He glanced from his mother towards him with a quirk of his expressive eyebrow. "What?"

Arthur paused, staring up at where Hunith in turn had turned towards him. She couldn't understand him, Arthur knew, but apparently Merlin's attentiveness had drawn her own. "Dr MacMaloney was the midwife of a... a friend of mine. Or his wife, at least." Arthur cringed slightly at the thought. It hadn't been pleasant circumstances that he'd known the woman and it was that as much as anything that had stuck the memory of ten years ago firmly in his mind. He shook himself loose of his discomfort, however, and tilted his head towards Hunith, gesturing awkwardly with a foot. "I doubt your mother's heard of Gaius, has she?"

Merlin frowned at him for a moment before relaying his words to his mother. Hunith frowned, staring directly at Arthur in an expression almost an exact mimic of her son's. "Yes, I have heard of him. I actually know him quite well, actually. We met quite by chance when he first met your father at the university once upon a time, Merlin, but became friends nonetheless. I was the one to suggest your Mamó midwife for his wife Alice, Merlin." He face crumpled slightly, saddened.

Arthur couldn't help but feel the same. Gaius' family had a hard life – or at least it had been hard when he'd still had one. But Alice had died nearly seven years ago, and his son...

"How do you know that?" Hunith abruptly asked. The sorrow in her expression had been visibly set aside. "That's personal information. How do you...?"

Arthur was replying before she'd even finished. "Gaius is a friend of my father's. He was my childhood doctor for years, and still deals with our more personal cases. And I know about Dr MacMaloney because... because Gaius told me. Myself, my sister, my father, we're some of the few people in the world who know about his son at all."

It was a sad story. Heartbreaking, even. Gaius and Alice had tried for so long to fall pregnant. It had been a miracle when it had happened, and they were tentatively ecstatic. So tentative that they'd told few outside of their own families. But seven months in and they'd lost their son. It had been hard, so hard upon the both of them. Arthur had known Gaius for years, as first his doctor and then his friend, and it had hurt to see him so devastated. Worse than that, however, three years later and Alice had fallen prey to the misery that had consumed her since the loss of her son.

It had only made it all that much worse. Gaius had lost not only a child but also his wife. Arthur couldn't forget that, any of that, if he'd tried. Not even if he'd wanted to.

As Merlin hesitantly translated Arthur's words, Arthur saw Hunith pale. Her eyes widened and she stared down at Arthur with a mixture of stupefaction and incredulity. "How do you know that?" She said in barely more than a whisper. "No one knows that except –"

"Me," Arthur finished. "Me, my family, Gaius' family." He drew his gaze away from Hunith to peer up at Merlin. "I keep telling you who I am. You just persist in remaining oblivious to reality."

Arthur could see it in Merlin's eyes then. He saw that which he hadn't beheld before. Surprise, confusion, and just a little, just a spark of... belief? Fuck but Arthur hoped so. He'd abruptly had enough of struggling, of trying to convince someone who didn't want to believe the truth because, realistically, the truth couldn't happen. He was suddenly resigned, exhausted, lacking even in his frustration. Thought of Gaius, of Alice and the son they'd almost had, often did that to him. Arthur wasn't generally a considerate person, knew he wasn't, but that…

Merlin and Hunith were staring at Arthur in nearly identical expressions. Arthur had a brief moment of satisfaction to note that there was indeed greater belief than there had been hitherto. It was so paramount yet so interlaced with something akin to foreboding, that even Gwaine and Will noticed.

"Shit, what happened?" Will said, concern touching his tone.

Neither Merlin nor Hunith spared him a glance. Instead they turned to stare at one another for a long moment. "He shouldn't know that," Hunith murmured. "That sort of information can't be found just anywhere."

"So what?" Merlin said just as quietly. "What does that even mean? What do we do?"

"I think," Hunith said, slowly drawing her gaze back towards Arthur. "That perhaps you should go and see Gaius. And perhaps this so-called witch that we've heard so much about."

When Merlin turned back to him, Arthur couldn't hide the sagging relief that flooded through him, that overwhelmed even the touch of sorrow and regret that had grown within him. Finally. Finally something was happening, they were doing something. If he could, Arthur would have kissed Hunith in gratitude.

Somehow, however, he didn't think that was the sort that would work on a frog prince.


	4. Chapter 4 - Exploring Habitat Limitation

**Chapter 4: Exploring Habitat Limitations**

Merlin had always been at odds about whether he truly liked the city of Cardiff or not.

On the one hand, it was a little overwhelming. At a glance, it was vastly different to the sedate little town he'd grown up in, that he's spent most of his life in. There was an absence of greenery – naturally given it was a sizeable city. Not like Aberystwyth either, which was the closest he usually came to a city at all. There was constant noise, whirring and buzzing and chatter ringing through the sound of footsteps and overriding it all was the thrum of passing vehicles that seemed an unending cycle of motor travellers. Even the air smelled different to the humid cleanliness of the estate, and not in an altogether good way.

Yet at the same time, he loved it. Merlin couldn't describe the reasoning behind liking such juxtaposing settings of city and countryside, only that it was exciting. There was always something happening, always something to see, to do, to listen to, and while at first when coming to a larger city it was a little overwhelming – something that Merlin had discovered he'd happened across more often than not when he'd travelled to the higher density regions – he loved it.

Merlin loved the constant buzz of noise that told of agendas he wasn't party to, of a world he had no part in but for a brief glimmer of observation. The barks of laughter and enthusiastic chatter were a different kind of music to the gentle, humming silence of the estate. Merlin loved the mismatched buildings, those that resembled the more antique architecture of his university between and alongside stately terraces to those that had been updated with the times and breathed modernity.

He loved that he could get lost in the winding streets of the inner city, that even getting lost at all was an experience and an excitement, and that at any time he could peer around a corner and encounter a region he hadn't happened across before.

The unfamiliar houses.

The unfamiliar shops that held peculiar and unfamiliar oddments.

The faces that bore vaguely familiar characteristics but only vaguely so, expressions the only recognisable aspects and deluding his curious eyes.

Merlin's mother had always said he had an unquenchable desire to explore, to relieve the itch of twitching feet, to seek a respite from the boredom of monotony that was the placid and consistent life of many a resident in the sparsely spread estates of his hometown. Such was the reasoning behind Merlin' cohort of animal friends when Merlin was a boy, she'd always said, that he was inquisitive to his own detriment at times and would natter away and pepper with questions anyone who spared him an ear. Hunith claimed that he was like his father in that regard, always curious and seeking, and that love the farm and the horses though he did it didn't suit him. It wasn't enough for him.

Merlin always ignored those words. He knew they were true but he ignored them nonetheless, just as he ignored Hunith's suggestions to get out and see the world, to breathe in the sights and taste the smells and relieve some of that unshakeable jitteriness that flooded through his veins. It was easier to ignore than to recognise, for to recognise would be to accept and struggle with suppressing that urge all the more.

And he had to. Merlin always would. He wasn't going anywhere.

That didn't mean that, when he was afforded the opportunity, he wouldn't savour every last second of it. His mother's suggestion that he take himself to Cardiff to see her old friend Gaius wasn't one he resisted too greatly. Gwaine and Will's encouragement – Will more than Gwaine even, with the urge to leave their quiet town always pronounced within him – hadn't been necessary. They'd left that afternoon, clambering into Merlin's Astra after Gwaine and Will had it out for who would sit in the front seat. Neither had won for they were far too evenly matched and practiced in such competitions, but at Merlin's declaration that he'd leave them behind if they didn't haul arse and get in the car they'd reached the unanimous decision that they'd switch halfway through the trip.

Merlin personally didn't think they needed a stop for a distance of less than three hours, but it would be faster than waiting for them to have it out.

Arthur hadn't complained. He'd barely spoken a word since Merlin had hesitantly agreed to go and see his 'Dr Gaius'. It was strange, uncharacteristic of him even, and at first Merlin had suspected he'd panicked, that Arthur hadn't anticipated they would actually act upon his words and chase up his crazed claims at royalty. It wouldn't be the first time that Merlin had outed a frog for just that reason; especially the males were all huff and bluster until reality was drawn into the open and their falsehoods laid bare. Even with Hunith's abrupt speculations Merlin had half expected Arthur to confess his untruths and slink back to whence he'd come.

He hadn't. The frog who called himself Prince Arthur wasn't subdued for panic and nervousness at his farce unveiled but seemed instead deflated. As though the fight had abruptly seeped from him and he sagged into exhaustion. He'd been so silent when Merlin was packing the bare minimum of supplies for what would most likely be nothing more than a day trip that he'd questioned the frog about it.

Arthur only gave his little jerking twist of his head that was the best he could manage of a shake without a neck. "I'm fucking exhausted, Merlin," he said, for the first time without any real heat. "Do you have any idea what it feels like to have apparently the only person in the world who can understand you finally at least partially accept that what you're saying is true? No, of course not. Because this is a fucked up situation and I'm _exhausted_."

Merlin was silenced by his words. He didn't know what to say. Did he believe Arthur when he claimed he really was who he said he was? Even given the impossibility of magic, that a person could be transformed into an animal? It was beyond impossible. How did that even work? The physics of it, the conversion of mass, the fact that amphibians weren't even in the same class as mammalian humans, made it all entirely impossible.

But then, Arthur did seem strange in a way that Merlin hadn't encountered in an animal before. Even old Kilgharrah hadn't known immediately how to converse with Merlin so succinctly, had been momentarily inhibited by the language barrier that, though rapidly smoothed and eased with whatever drive Merlin's gift afforded him, was never instantaneous. Arthur certainly held the record for the richest vocabulary of any animal Merlin had ever happened across, not to mention the fact that a significant proportion of the words he uttered were curses.

And that was aside from Arthur's persistence with his claims, his unyielding demands of what in anyone with less arrogance and profound superiority complex Merlin would have called begging. He never wavered even slightly in the claims of his royal status, not even when Merlin attempted to point out that, by and large, Prince Arthur wasn't exactly a very good example of his title. Arthur the frog seemed to know a great deal about that, hardly seemed to care, even, but acknowledged the faults in the prince as though they were his own.

He knew a lot about the prince. A lot about humans in general. It was uncanny.

But even that Merlin would have been able to overlook in the face of logic if not for his mother's words as she'd drawn him aside moments before he'd climbed in the car to head down to Cardiff. Gwaine and Will were still going at it, arguing about who would be seated in prime position for the first half of the trip like bickering ten year olds.

Hunith's tone was hushed, her expression hard and serious enough that any consideration Merlin had for his friends was shunted aside to give her his full attention. "What is it?" He asked worriedly. "What's wrong? Is something -?"

"Nothing," Hunith said with a shake of his head. "Nothing's wrong, exactly, but… Merlin, I have a feeling."

Merlin frowned. Hunith rarely spoke her thoughts without due consideration, something that Merlin had never quite been capable of. "A feeling about what?"

"That the frog, that Arthur – I think he might be telling the truth."

Merlin stared at his mother. He stared for a long moment, a silent pause, and was only half aware that his mouth had dropped open in stupefaction. Slowly he shook his head, more in disbelief that denial because his mother was never one capable of hiding her jesting; Merlin would know if she teased him and she was certainly sincere in that moment. "You've got to be kidding me," he said anyway.

Hunith shook her head shortly. "No. I think that somehow that frog is really the prince."

"How is that even possible?"

Hunith shrugged, clearly at a bit of a loss. "Magic, I suppose. If it's possible."

Merlin shook his head more firmly this time. "It's not, Mum. Magic's not –"

"I know," Hunith interrupted him, her voice quiet yet stifling his own nonetheless. "I know it's impossible, unbelievable even –"

"It's more than that. It's fucking insane." It was a testament to Hunith's agreement with Merlin that she didn't even blink when he swore. "Not only the how of a person turning into an animal but everything else too. What about the actual prince, the one that keeps cropping up in the news?"

"I don't know," Hunith sighed.

"This witch that Arthur keeps talking about?" Merlin persisted. "Nimueh? She was the old queen's best friend and royal advisor. Why would she do that?"

"I don't know, Merlin."

"It doesn't make any sense." Merlin could feel his jaw tighten almost painfully in a momentary flush of frustration. None of it made sense and what had previously been amusement at the antics of a strange amphibian had quickly become a confusing mess of the impossible. "None of it makes any sense. _Magic_ doesn't make sense."

Hunith pressed her lips together, glancing over Merlin's shoulder towards where Gwaine and Will were still audibly arguing. Or perhaps towards Arthur, who Merlin had seen hopping from the greenhouse and a last dip in the pond before they left. Something in her expression was contemplative, almost concerned, and resounded in her voice when she spoke. "You're right. It doesn't. But then what is magic but a word to describe what we have no explanation for."

Merlin stared at her in silence for a moment until she slowly drew her gaze back towards him. "I'm pretty sure scientists are onto most of that."

Hunith's lips twitched slightly but she didn't quite smile. "Probably. But some things haven't been explained. Like you and your father talking to animals –"

"That's not magic," Merlin interrupted.

His mother immediately raised a hand to silence him. "Or the fact that Gaius and his wife Alice had a strange, almost surreal ability to heal people."

Merlin blinked. "W…what?"

Hunith nodded. "I never said anything about it but yes, they were strange. Nothing obvious, and more pronounced in Alice than in Gaius but… yes, some illnesses and injuries they seemed to fix to a degree and with a speed that shouldn't have been possible."

Merlin blinked once more before raising a hand to touch the side of his head, running his fingers through his hair. It was grounding to grasp something tangible and his fingers tugged sharply. "That's impossible," he muttered, even as he began to doubt his own words. He would never think his mother would speak so sincerely in anything but the truth.

"It shouldn't be possible, no," Hunith replied in an equally quiet tone. "But it is. Or it might be. Just like how I came to understand that there was something not quite explainable about Gaius and Alice. Or that when I considered it, the boy who used to go to primary school with me had an odd habit of abruptly vanishing as though into thin air –"

"That's can't be," Merlin began.

"- or that the young woman who jumped from that building in town four years ago – what was her name? Sarah Herd?"

"Yeah," Merlin mumbled his agreement.

"She fell from a building five storeys high in full view of everyone and climb to her feet almost immediately afterwards to disappear," Hunith continued. She shook her head. "I can't explain some things, Merlin, no better than the scientists can. And they can't prove anything because people like Sarah Herd vanish when some anomaly crops up and are lost to oblivion." A frown settled onto her forehead, though she appeared more thoughtful than concerned this time.

"So you think," Merlin said slowly, "that maybe this Nimueh person might actually have some sort of… some sort of magic?" It felt strange even voicing as much.

Hunith shook her head. "I don't know, Merlin. Maybe, maybe not. We won't know until you can see Gaius and hopefully get his help in meeting with her." She shrugged. "But either way, I don't think we should rule out the possibility of Arthur's words being the truth."

Merlin still couldn't believe it entirely, not nearly three hours drive later in which he'd done little but contemplate as much. In many ways it was more his mother's revelation than anything that struck him, that she could think as much possible. True, Merlin knew that many people would consider what he could do to be magic – which it wasn't. It definitely wasn't. Maybe it wasn't so farfetched to believe that a frog could be a human under his skin?

Still, though. Transformation? That was… surely _that_ was impossible.

Merlin glanced sidelong at Arthur where he sat in a wad of damp towels in the passenger seat, elevated enough that he'd be able to peer out the windows to glean a glimpse of their surroundings. Merlin had forcibly ejected a grumbling Will from said seat as they'd slipped into the thinly congested streets of Cardiff, claiming that if anyone would be able to give them directions to Gaius' house it would be Arthur. He pointedly ignored Gwaine's complaint that "That's what I picked up your a new phone for! So that you could use the bloody GPS". Arthur didn't complain either but actually appeared somewhat grateful for the seat. Or at least as grateful as he apparently could feel; if anything would convince Merlin that Arthur was a spoilt royal brat it would be his sense of entitlement.

Given that he'd been affording Merlin prompt directions until that moment, Arthur apparently did know the way. Merlin had been openly and momentarily sceptical of his ability to discern their location but Arthur's grumbling mutters to the matter had silenced him on that. Instead, Merlin fell silent to the directions, ignoring those his phone voiced to him in favour of the ones Arthur worded. If nothing else it would be just one more test.

Really, even with Merlin's rising belief, his unfurling consideration that the impossible was now possible, it still stunned him. He glanced sidelong at Arthur, at the little common frog that wasn't even as big as his palm yet had the ego to make up for it. An ego that Merlin had interpreted as being something of the combined effects of his character and his distress. For he was distressed, that much Merlin could discern. Arthur was vocal, entitled, pompous and demanding, but he was distressed too. Merlin had always had a sort of sixth sense for perceiving that sort of thing in animals; he put it down to the fact that their physical expressions were less pronounced so something in his subconsciousness just seemed to _know_. Arthur might be arrogant and assuming, but Merlin perceived that at least some of it was a result of his concern. A concern that bordered on panic.

It had taken a little while for Merlin to work out that panic was what it was but… yes. Yes, Arthur was almost panicking. He'd realised as much on the drive over at least.

"What?" Arthur said flatly, barely audible over the humming tunes rippling from the radio, to say nothing of Gwaine's overly loud conversation that was more likely with himself than Will in the back of the car.

Merlin glanced at him sidelong. Arthur hadn't turned towards him exactly but he didn't need to; frog's eyes were just like that. "What what?"

"You're looking at me strangely." Arthur shifted on his towels in a way that was almost discomforted. "Again."

Without looking, Merlin picked up the spray bottle from the cup holder and fired a cool mist of water at Arthur to his startled grunt. "You look uncomfortable," he said.

"I do not," Arthur replied indignantly. His front hands rose automatically, as though unconsciously, to spread the water dotting in droplets across his skin.

"Arthur, I've spent enough time around animals to be able to realise when one isn't comfortable. Your skin was drying out; just ask me next time if you need to be sprayed."

Arthur didn't reply but to grumble to himself once more. He'd been less verbose with his words since they'd started their trip, as though his need to push his humanity upon Merlin at every opportunity had eased with the dubious acceptance Merlin and Hunith had adopted. It was an acceptance that Will resolutely refused to consider, calling it "Absolutely impossible" and professing that "It's a frog, Merlin. A frog. That sort of thing doesn't happen", while Gwaine seemed to consider it simply a hilarious joke and had broken out into spontaneous laughter at their situation as a whole on more than one instance throughout the trip.

After the first time, at which Arthur had shot a glare towards him from his then-seat in the back of the car, those sudden bursts of laughter had elicited little enough response from the frog. He'd hardly complained at all, not even when Merlin had explained the necessity of either sitting him in a water bath or frequently showering him from the spray bottle. He'd been visibly humiliated at least the first few times Merlin had sprayed him but after that seemed to accept it as necessary.

"It's just down this road here," Arthur said, turning slightly at the next approaching corner and making an attempt at an admittedly human gesture with one awkwardly raised front leg. Merlin slowed at the stop sign before pulling around the bend, turning into the quiet street of narrow terraces. They'd retreated into the quieter and less populated residential areas some minutes before, old-fashioned houses lining the road of identical yet somehow different façades. Little, elaborate iron gates barred off tame gardens and short trees draping their limbs over the pavement, stepping stone paths leading up to short stairwells and narrow verandas in front of tall, plain doors. Merlin leaned forwards slightly, peering through the windscreen at each house they passed. There really wasn't all that much distinctive enough to tell them apart but the golden numbers adorning each ornate letterbox.

"They all look exactly the same," Gwaine murmured from the seat behind him, voicing Merlin's thoughts. "What was the number again?"

"Thirty-two," Arthur replied before Merlin could. "It's at the end of the road, two houses before the turn off." He made another awkward gesture to his side of the road before settling himself back into his towels. Merlin was silent. He wasn't going to comment that each time Arthur spoke as such, each time he gave exact directions, it only enforced the disbelieving understanding that somehow, impossibly, he might be telling the truth.

Merlin pulled to a stop at the curb beside the unremarkable terrace Arthur indicated. The number atop the letterbox was just visible from the street-side. Merlin found himself peering up at the house with sudden concern. His mother had given Gaius a call, had explained that Merlin was coming to see him, but hadn't told him why. Merlin had never met the man before, hadn't even heard of him, and now he was supposed to go and explain to him that the frog he brought with him was Prince Arthur of Cardiff? If anything would make him seem crazy it would be that.

Abruptly, Merlin sorely hoped that Hunith and her supposition as to Gaius' 'magical-ness' was accurate.

"What are you waiting for?" Arthur asked, a little shortly.

Merlin spared him a glance. The frog had turned towards him, peering unblinkingly up at him from his nest of towels. Merlin swallowed. "Oh, I don't know. Just preparing myself to be chased out of this guy's house with a broom for sounding like a crazy person."

"Don't worry, Merlin, you don't sound like a crazy person," Gwaine said, leaning forwards in his seat to pat Merlin on the shoulder affectionately. "Or at least no more than you usually do."

"Thanks, Gwaine, that's so comforting."

"We'll be there right with you," Will said quietly. He met Merlin's gaze as Merlin spared him a glance over his shoulder.

Merlin offered a small, grateful smile. Really, what the hell was he doing? He'd come all the way to Cardiff with a frog who claimed to be a prince to convince a stranger of what he hardly believed himself. It really did sound crazy, but "Thanks, Will."

"And thanks, Gwaine," Gwaine added with a crooked smirk. "You're the best person in the world for coming on this absolutely random mission with me to convince some old man that your pet frog is a prince in disguise." He shot Merlin a wink. "Real classic fairy tale you've got yourself there, Merls."

Merlin rolled his eyes though he couldn't help but smile. "Yes, thank you, Gwaine."

"Even though you didn't have to come along in the first place," Will muttered, opening the door to climb from the car.

"Of course I did," Gwaine replied, clambering after him. "Leave Merlin with only you as his back up? What kind of a friend would I be if I did that?"

Merlin turned his attention back to Arthur as he unclipped himself from his seat. Arthur was still staring up at him. "You ready to go?" He asked.

If a frog could purse his lips, Arthur would be doing so now. "Merlin, I've been ready for nearly two months for any sort of progress. Can we get a move on already?"

"Jeez, demand, demand," Merlin muttered to himself, but he held out a hand to Arthur and allowed him to hop onto his palm before climbing from the car.

The terrace really was next to identical to those on either side of it. Brick façade, unadorned door shaded by an awning, an immaculate garden that Merlin recognised as character of those with a true hobby for tending; it really wasn't anything to comment on. Ascending the short path, he knocked on the door with a sharp rap of knuckles to Gwaine's faux-indignant words of "There's a doorbell there for a reason, you uncultured swine."

"Oh, and you'd be the first to educate people on proper decorum," Merlin said with a glance over his shoulder at his friend. Gwaine only grinned in reply.

The sound of locks unclasping sounded barely a moment later, so shortly after that Merlin suspected Gaius had likely been waiting for them practically in the room just beyond. The door opened sharply to reveal the man himself framed by the narrow hallway beyond.

Gaius was an older man, though not as old as Merlin had anticipated. His white-blond hair could have hidden any early signs of greying, his face lined by thin and shallow wrinkled and his back just a little bowed as though his shoulders were heaped with a heavy weight, but all in all Merlin didn't think he could have been older than fifty. He had sharp eyes that spoke of a studious keenness and the sweeping glance he ran over Merlin, over his shoulders to Gwaine and Will and then dropped down to Arthur that perched in Merlin's hand, was visibly intelligent. Except that at the sight of Arthur, one thick eyebrow rose in surprise. He didn't comment, however, and instead silently settled his attention back upon Merlin.

There was a pause, an awkward pause that Merlin immediately sought to alleviate. Swallowing, he drew a bright smile across his face. "Um. Hi. My name's Merlin. You're Gaius? My mum, Hunith, she called you."

Gaius stared for a long moment that was distinctly uncomfortable for his complete lack of expression. Merlin heard Gwaine shift behind him from foot to foot, heard Will mutter something beneath his breath, but an instant later Gaius' face was splitting into a smile and he ignored them both.

"Merlin," he said, nodding his head as though in sudden understanding. "Yes, I've heard about you from Hunith. Not for years, mind, but I would be able to recognise you in an instant."

"Recognise me?" Merlin asked curiously. "Have we met before? Sorry, I don't –"

Gaius waved his apology aside. "No, no, we haven't met. But you look so like Hunith that I wouldn't be able to mistake you for anyone else."

Gwaine nudged Merlin from behind. "Hey, look at that. Family resemblance does run ridiculously strong in your family."

"Between your mum and your Mamó, you're all basically clones," Will said, and Merlin could see his smug smirk even without turning towards him. He chose to ignore him.

Gaius, however, chuckled and nodded his head. "Your grandmother, yes? Dr MacMaloney." He nodded again, smile widening. "Yes, you do have that resemblance about you."

"Thank, guys," Merlin muttered, shooting both of his friends a half-hearted glare over his shoulder.

Gaius was beckoning them inside with a sweep of his arm, however, and the directive pat of Arthur's damp fingers on Merlin's hand urged him to follow right behind. Leading the way, Merlin followed Gaius through the narrow hallway, passing into a cluttered living room richly adorned with plump couches, a desk wedged in one corner and nearly buried beneath books of all sorts, and a television that looked old enough to have been made when Gaius himself was born. From the look of it, it hadn't seen much after that either.

Following Gaius' directions, Merlin seated himself upon one of the couches, quickly wedged between an abruptly seated Will and Gwaine who apparently hadn't the forethought to consider that all three of them upon the one couch might be a tight squeeze. Gaius spared them all a vaguely masked smirk of amusement before adopting a casual expression. "Can I offer anyone tea? Biscuits?"

"No thank you," Merlin replied, just as Will and Gwaine both blurted out identical "Yes please"s. Merlin shot them each a glance that they responded to with varying degrees of sheepishness. Or next to none in Gwaine's case.

"What?" He said. "We haven't had lunch yet. I told you we should have stopped off when me and Will swapped seats. I'm starving."

"Tea would be great," Will said to Gaius, as though minimising his request would lessen the presumptuousness of their speedy reply.

Gaius only seemed to find it all the more amusing. "I'll see what I can rustle up," he said, and disappeared through a doorway into an adjoining room that Merlin could make out as being the dining room.

"Well, that was presumptuous," Arthur said, speaking Merlin's thoughts. "It's common courtesy to offer but they didn't have to jump so quickly to agree."

"Oh, and you'd know all about common courtesy, would you?" Merlin asked, sparing Arthur a raised eyebrow.

"What?" Will asked.

"I'm talking to Arthur."

"Ah, yes, Arthur, the frog lacking in any capacity for gratitude and respect," Gwaine said with a solemn nod. "What's he whinging about?"

"I am not whinging," Arthur said. It could have been Merlin's imagination but he thought he sounded slightly less heated than he had previously. "Gaius is simply my friend. I would that you treat him with respect."

Merlin didn't reply to Gwaine's question or to Arthur's words. Instead, he fell silent as, thoughtful. Arthur was a confusing mixture of hypocrisy. All stories on the media, in the papers and online, spoke of him being an arrogant, entitled and carefree spirit. That he held his position in his father's business was likely more to do with his name and position as King Uther's son than any particular worthiness. Though many claimed he'd been intelligent in his youth, had aced his classes in school and would have likely soared in the military had he been better at following orders, it was common knowledge that Prince Arthur didn't abide by anyone's rules but his own. That he didn't try unless he expressly wanted to. That he took what he wanted when he wanted, acted as he would, and vastly more often than not spared little 'common courtesy' for anyone.

Merlin had seen evidence of that, if the frog-Arthur's status as a transformed prince was to be believed. Ever since he'd met him Merlin had been little more than a pair of ears to listen to Arthur's profuse proclamations, his attempts to convince Merlin of his humanity and demands for consideration and attendance that Merlin largely ignored. It was funny most of the time, an amusement pointless and easily disregarded for the rest, and Merlin had no more difficulty simply accepting the sense of entitlement that Arthur presented than he did in most every other animal. Animals that spoke to Merlin were usually like that; they demanded at first, as though caught up with the surplus of possibilities that talking to a human could provide, but slowly those demands weaned off to a wary then genuine respect, to camaraderie more often than not for as long as said animals chose to stick around. Merlin had it in Kilgharrah, in Mordred, in his mother's cat and the stable hands' dogs. He'd expected it to happen with Arthur to eventually.

Things had changed. In the scant few hours that Arthur had 'convinced' Hunith of his humanity and at least partially Merlin, he'd changed. His demands all but ceased, and thought the air of entitlement still hung around him like a suspended cloud, he didn't voice them as often. He hadn't spoken much at all over the past few hours, actually, and Merlin had to attribute that to the fact that yes, perhaps he really was exhausted. More than that, however, was the thing with Gaius. Was Arthur really accusing Gwaine and Will of impropriety after his behaviour of the last few weeks? Didn't he see his own actions as wanting in politeness? Maybe his opinion was just biased when it came to someone he knew?

 _And now I'm already accepting that the frog knows Gaius_ , Merlin thought with a mental shake of his head. He was. He really was. Unbelievably, extraordinarily, he was accepting it. The directions, the information provided of Prince Arthur himself that a frog really shouldn't know, even the casual familiarity that he viewed the living room in which they now sat gaze drifting idly. Merlin didn't know what to do about it, not really, and could only hope that Gaius might provide some instruction. If, of course, Gaius believed them in the first place.

Gaius returned promptly with the promised tea and biscuits, and Merlin accepted his own cup out of politeness, even if Gwaine and a still-sheepish Will did so with more readiness. Gaius seated himself upon the couch across from them as the biscuits were rapidly demolished, his own cup and saucer propped in his lap. "You've travelled quite a ways just for a day trip," he said.

Merlin shrugged, propping his own cup on his knee after ensuring that Arthur, perched on his other leg, was an adequate distance away. "It wasn't really so far."

"How is your mother, Merlin?" Gaius asked, a small smile touching his lips. "I confess I've not seen her for many years, and we've only exchanged phone calls on a slightly more frequent basis."

Merlin smiled in reply. "She's doing great, actually. She's got the run of the farm and basically handles it single-handedly."

"Still the horses?" Gaius asked.

"Still horses."

Gaius chuckled to himself. "She always was more comfortable in a saddle than on her own two feet."

"That sounds familiar," Will muttered into his tea, glancing at Merlin sidelong.

"Don't be ridiculous, Will," Gwaine countered. "Merlin hardly ever rides in a saddle."

Merlin rolled his eyes as Gaius gave another chuckle and lowered his cup. "I take it you've taken after your mother in that regard too, then?"

"You could say that again," Gwaine said, snagging another biscuit. "Horses love him. You should hear it when he steps into the stable in the morning. You'd think he was fucking royalty or something."

Merlin winced slightly at Gwaine's words, as much for the swearing that induced a pointedly raised eyebrow from Gaius at each as for the comment itself. "Shut up, Gwaine."

Gwaine shrugged. "It's true. Animals just love him for _some reason_." He nudged Merlin with an elbow. Really, if he'd been anymore obvious with his suggestion Merlin would have expected Gaius to guess the direction of their intended conversation without his input at all.

Gaius tilted his head slightly, frowning, and drew his gaze down to where Arthur was sitting with surprising silence in his lap. "Yes, I can see that. Might I ask to the nature of your amphibious friend? Not that I have an particular problem with having one in my house but such does invoke curiosity."

Merlin shifted his cup to the coffee table before him, scooping up Arthur in one hand. _How to start this…_ "Um," he began eloquently, to which Arthur muttered a muffled, croaking snort. "So. Yeah, I have a thing with animals. A really kind of strange thing. And…" He paused, glanced down at Arthur who peered up at him before turning towards Gaius once more. "I think it might be a little bit like you have with your, ah… doctoring."

A frown settled on Gaius' forehead. "My doctoring?"

"You've got magic fingers or something, haven't you, Doc?" Gwaine butted in.

"Magic fingers, Gwaine?" Will sighed. "Really?"

"What? I thought that was a pretty accurate description."

"Could you be any less subtle if you tried?"

"I don't know," Gwaine said with a shrug. "Maybe." Then he turned to Gaius and Merlin knew exactly what would spill from his mouth next. Unfortunately, he didn't get a chance to stem the flow before it blurted forth. "You have a healing magic thing going, isn't that right, Doc?"

Merlin winced just as Will dropped his face into his palm. Even Arthur seemed to roll his eyes in exasperation. Really, Merlin would have much preferred to go about the situation with more delicacy, but delicate wasn't exactly a word that he would attribute to Gwaine.

Gaius was staring at Gwaine with a deepening frown. It wasn't quite indignant but it wasn't far off. "I beg your pardon?"

"Don't worry, we don't think it's loony or anything." Gwaine slung an arm casually around Merlin's shoulders, jostling him slightly. "See, Merlin here's got his own particular brand of magic. He talks to animals."

Merlin winced once more, feeling his shoulders hunch slightly as Gaius turned his gaze towards him, eyebrows shooting towards his hairline. He stared at Merlin for a long moment to the sound of Will's incomprehensible muttering, blinking slowly. Then, "You can talk to animals?"

Merlin could have smacked Gwaine over the head in that moment. _Great, now he thinks we're all insane_. "That's one way of putting it, yeah."

"That's the only way of putting it," Will murmured at his side. At least he had the decency to mute it enough that Merlin didn't think Gaius could hear him.

There was another pause. Another silence. Then, face still blank in surprise and incredulity – in disbelief – Gaius slowly nodded. "Well, I suppose that would explain the presence of the frog to a degree."

Merlin blinked. He was rendered stunned. Wait, did he just…? Did Gaius just accept…? At his side, Gwaine raised both hands in the air as if in self-acclimation. "Thank you, ladies and gents, we managed to get to the crux of the matter without dancing around the bush for eternity."

"Shut up, Gwaine," Merlin said distractedly. Will slapped his forehead into his hand once more.

"Well, you have to admit it's more convenient than all this hesitancy bollocks and all that jazz."

"I would have to agree," Gaius murmured to Merlin's surprise, nodding slowly.

"Thanks, Doc," Gwaine said, flashing his wide, easy grin. "You know, I like you."

"I'm not sure if that's a compliment or not," Gaius said.

"No one ever is," Will said, rolling his eyes at Gwaine. "Personally, I rue the day Gwaine took a liking to _me_."

"No you don't," Gwaine replied.

"I do."

"You love me."

"I really, really don't."

"I'm assuming this meeting has something to do with your particular brand of… magic?" Gaius said, effectively cutting off Gwaine and Will's arising banter. Merlin wondered how he managed that so effectively; he'd have to ask him sometime in the future for his own sake. "For want of a better word, of course. I hardly think that my own skills are anything of the magical kind."

"Is this a thing with magical people?" Will asked, glancing towards Gaius then to Merlin. "None of you accept that what you do is magic?"

"None of us?" Merlin said, raising an eyebrow at his friend. "How many supposedly 'magical' people do you think exist, Will?"

"Well, as of this morning, a sight more than I did yesterday."

Merlin turned back to Gaius, ignoring Will's pointed stare. "Yeah, I guess you could say it's about my… magic. Or at least has something to do with it."

"Meaning what precisely?" Gaius asked.

Merlin shifted in his seat awkwardly. _Seriously, how does anyone go about a situation like this?_ At his side, Gwaine looped an arm around his shoulders, jostling him slightly. "Probably better to just come out and say it, Merls."

Merlin sighed but had to agree with Gwaine's suggestion. He'd already dropped one bombshell; what was another thrown into the mix? Raising Arthur in the palm of his hand, he held him out towards Gaius indicatively. "This is Arthur. He's apparently been turned from a human into a frog by someone who has that sort of ma…magic." Merlin could hardly get the words out. Magic was so fucking unbelievable. Really. "Or so he tells me."

"Tells you correctly," Arthur muttered, speaking up for the first time since Gaius' return. Merlin ignored him.

Gaius was frowning. "Arthur? His name is Arthur?"

"Just how it sounds," Will said, nodding almost wearily. "Yeah, he reckons he's the Prince of Wales."

Gaius stared at Will. Then he stared at Merlin. Then he drew his gaze towards Arthur. "I beg your pardon?"

"I know, it sounds crazy," Merlin hastened to say. "Seriously, I've spent weesk telling Arthur just as much, but he keeps at it. And… and he's told us some things that I don't think would be possible if he, you know, _wasn't_ the prince."

Gaius' eyebrow rose once more. It really was quite an intimidating expression he pulled. "Oh?"

Merlin bit his lip. He didn't particularly want to speak of what Arthur had told him, of Gaius and his late wife, of their unborn son. But then Arthur was speaking and he was distracted from his thoughts. "Tell him about Nimueh. Tell him exactly what I've told you."

Merlin didn't' exactly like being ordered what to do, but in this instance he'd take any possibility of not having to breach the decidedly uncomfortable conversation with Gaius. He grasped Arthur's suggestion with both hands. "Arthur told me that it was someone called Nimueh who changed him into a frog. That she used to be his mother's advisor?" At the recognition in Gaius' expression, tightening his brow into a frown, he continued. "Apparently it was something about straightening him out, or whatever."

"Though I do _not_ need straightening out," Arthur objected.

"Hey, I'm not the one saying it," Merlin replied, shifting his gaze to where Arthur had turned towards him indignantly. "But to me it kind of sounds like that was what Nimueh was trying to do."

"You're making assumptions."

"I'm paraphrasing. Summarising."

"Assuming."

"Well, how else would you describe it? Telling you to go and get a kiss from some princess or whatever to try and 'settle you down' sounds like straightening out to me. And given that you're kind of a…" Merlin trailed off indicatively, leaving his words hanging. Arthur glared up at him but apparently couldn't think of an adequate reply to that. He _harrumph_ ed and turned back towards Gaius.

Gaius, who was flicking his gaze between Merlin and Arthur with a return of his thinly veiled incredulity. "You were speaking to one another?"

"It's weird, isn't it?" Will said. "You get used to it but yeah."

"Still weird," Gwaine agreed.

"Incredible," Gaius muttered. Then he shook his head, his frown reaffirming itself. "But you said it is Nimueh who transformed him?"

Merlin nodded. "Apparently. Does that mean something?"

Gaius' frown deepened. "I cannot be certain, but if it is Nimueh… and some circles do speak of this capability of what many would call magic. I wouldn't put it outside of the realms of possibility that such a transformation could occur."

"You wouldn't?" Will asked sceptically.

Gaius shook his head. "And even less so that it could be Nimueh who conducted such."

"I knew it," Arthur abruptly exclaimed with a load croak. "She was always weird and sketchy. Always went on about her stories of reading the signs and feeling the waters. When I was ten she gave me a necklace that was supposed to make me a 'good child'. I never even considered it could be something more than that, but maybe she is magical." He seemed to shudder in Merlin's hand. "Thank fuck I got rid of that necklace."

In spite of himself and his own scepticism, Merlin repeated Arthur's words for everyone to hear. Gaius stared piercingly at Arthur afterwards, unblinking. "I remember that necklace," he murmured. Then he nodded. "Yes, perhaps it is for the best that it was gotten rid of."

"So you believe us?" Gwaine asked. "Him?" The unspoken _"just like that?"_ was still audible and Merlin realised then that Gwaine hadn't been anywhere near as confident in his abrupt acceptance as he'd appeared. He'd even abandoned half of his biscuit, so caught up in their conversation he'd become.

Gaius nodded slowly. "I think it possible."

"Just like that?" Will said, echoing Gwaine's unspoken words.

"There is no simply 'just like that'," Gaius said sagely. "But merely several contributing factors that would independently cause little comment but combined build a bigger picture." He gestured towards Arthur. "Mention of that necklace, for one. And Nimueh. And my understanding of this possibility of… magic." He seemed to speak as much tongue in cheek, something Merlin could entirely relate to. "That, and the fact that Prince Arthur at present is something of an anomaly."

"The doppelganger!" Arthur exclaimed with a particularly loud croak. He stamped a foot in Merlin's hand in indignation. "I almost forgot about it."

"What is it?" Merlin asked instead of repeating Arthur's words. "As far as I'm aware he's been acting as much of a prat as he usually is."

"Excuse you?" Arthur asked, glancing towards him. Merlin fathomed he could see his eyebrows rise indignantly.

"It's true and you know it," Merlin replied, and surprisingly Arthur didn't reply. His glare didn't' lessen any but he didn't offer refute.

Gaius' frown had deepened thoughtfully, all but ignoring Merlin and Arthur's exchange. "Behaviourally, there is nothing particularly exceptional about him, nothing outstanding. But he did come to see me for his semi-annual check-up not two weeks ago."

"He has semi-annual check-ups?" Gwaine said with an amused scoff.

Gaius ignored him too. "He was not unwell, but his readings were… somewhat skewed."

Merlin found himself frowning. "Skewed how?"

Gaius shook his head. "Nothing outstanding on their own but simply little things. An abnormal heart rate reading, blood pressure, weight range."

"Has our royal prat gained a few kilos?" Will asked with a snicker.

"Quite the contrary, he had substantially lost substantially," Gaius said mildly, ignoring the jest for what it was. "Unrealistically, even, given that physically he hasn't noticeably changed."

"So what does that mean?" Merlin asked, confused. He didn't think himself stupid or slow, regardless of how often over the past weeks Arthur had called him an idiot, but he hadn't the foggiest of where Gaius was heading with his observations.

Gaius, however, only shook his head once more. "I do not know. I can only hazard a guess." He didn't continue with that line of thought, however, instead rising to his feet with cup and saucer in hand. "But I think it would perhaps be best to see the source of this supposed abnormality."

"The doppleganger?" Arthur asked. He sounded slightly unnerved by the notion.

When Merlin repeated his words, Gaius shook his head. "I think Nimueh would be the better to discuss this with." He started from the room towards the kitchen. "I believe she should be at the castle today," he called over his shoulder.

"Wait, so we're going to the castle?" Gwaine asked, sitting up in his seat with a grin spreading across his face. "Hell yeah. I've never been before." He squeezed Merlin once more around the shoulders. "I knew there was a reason I was your friend."

"I feel so used," Merlin sighed to himself with a faint smile. Gwaine only laughed.

"Could it really be that easy?" Will asked, drawing their mutual attention. Even Arthur shifted in his seat to glance towards him. "I mean, this Gaius bloke, he just took it all. I wouldn't believe such a cock-and-bull story from complete strangers if they came with a million pounds in tow."

"Actually, that million would probably make it more suspicious," Gwaine pointed out.

"Shut up, Gwaine. You're missing my point."

Merlin could only nod at Will's sentiment. It did seem fantastical, impossible, that Gaius would believe such a story so readily. Could he? Did he really? Why? Was it really just the story of Nimueh's necklace, of his own personal observations of Arthur's self-proclaimed doppelganger? Or maybe, just maybe…

"Do you ever get the feeling that a whole word exists that you never even considered possible?" Merlin said detachedly. "Magic is utter bullshit, but maybe… I mean, maybe…"

Will clapped a hand on Merlin's shoulder, adopting a frank expression. "Honestly, Merlin, I've thought that since the day I first saw you having a conversation with a fucking snake."

Merlin had to laugh at that. It was that or check himself into the nearest institution because surely he was going some sort of crazy.

* * *

Merlin had never been to Baenwyn Castle.

Of course he hadn't, given that he wasn't royalty or of the royal entourage by any stretch of the imagination, but he hadn't even visited it to look from the outside. His few trips into Cardiff had been to see family when he was younger, and what kind of a kid wanted to go and see the imposing exterior and iron-wrought gates of a castle they could never enter?

It truly was a castle, in every sense of the word. Unlike Buckingham Palace – that Merlin had in fact seen from the outside the last time he'd visited London and Lance – it looked to be more of a scene stepped straight out of medieval Britain. When Gaius had obtained them entry with a word to the guards at the gates, Merlin urged his car into what looked to be a holding bay that wasn't actually within any kind of distance of the castle itself. It did afford a somewhat better view of it, however, of the extensive lengths of white-grey walls, of curling towers and pointed steeples atop them. It was certainly a lot bigger than it appeared from any of the pictures Merlin had seen online.

They filed out of the car at Gaius' direction to Gwaine's murmured appreciation and Will's silent echoing, the both of them more than a little overawed. Gwaine was always profuse with his exclamations of such, but even Will didn't hold his tongue. He'd always had a taste for the novel, for the exciting, an aspect of his character that would have perhaps been unexpected to anyone who wasn't aware of the eternal itchiness of his feet. Merlin couldn't help but agree with both of their sentiments, was paused in the conversation he'd been having with Gaius to stare up at the distant expanse of castle. Even Arthur, cupped in his spray-bottle dampened hands, was silent, watching, as though taking in the scene. Merlin didn't detect any such awe from him but there was a certain nostalgia to his unblinking stare. Or at least Merlin thought he felt as much.

That fact was only one more thing to add to the rapidly growing list of attributes more likely of a prince than a frog.

"This way, boys," Gaius said, rounding the car and gesturing from the loading bay parking lot in the only direction that realistically could be taken. A wide, gravelled walkway that could have fit three lorries abreast stretched in the direction of the castle. "We'll have to pass through security when we reach the doors but I'm sure you're not as threatening as you appear."

"Hey, speak for yourself," Will said indignantly, never one to accept derision of his capacities.

"On the contrary, Gaius is actually far more formidable than he appears," Arthur muttered distractedly as they set off after the elderly doctor. Merlin didn't comment, didn't repeat Arthur's words, but for some reason he couldn't help but suspect he spoke the truth. Gaius might appear harmless but he similarly carried an aura of solidity and forbiddance about him.

The castle only grew larger the closer they drew, looming with every step they took. Gwaine's appreciative murmurs were a nearly constant accompaniment, but Merlin barely heard him, torn between his own staring and Gaius' continuation of their conversation. "It's always a tentative approach one must take to such discussions and revelations. As you've no doubt discovered, the majority of the world isn't quite as receptive to believing in such unique gifts."

Merlin nodded, falling into step alongside Gaius and sparing him a glance. "Understandably. I don't think I'd believe it myself if someone told me they could do something that was practically magic."

"Yes, we've seen evidence of that," Arthur muttered, though surprisingly his words were devoid of rebuke. He appeared too distracted by their situation, or perhaps more focused upon the approaching confrontation, to put any heat into them.

"Well, would you if someone up and told you they'd been transformed into an animal by a witch?" Merlin asked, raising an eyebrow down at Arthur in his hand.

Arthur tipped his head up at him. "Would you believe someone if they up and told you they could speak to animals?"

"Clearly I would, given that I've known it's possible my whole life."

"But realistically," Arthur countered. "It's just as unbelievable."

"Not hardly. It's not even on the same plain as a transformation."

"They're both magic in my opinion."

"Yeah, your ignorant opinion," Merlin muttered.

"I take it," Gaius interrupted slowly, "that you are talking with… Arthur again?" Giving him his due, he barely hesitated over Arthur's name, dropping his gaze to the frog.

Merlin winced slightly, sheepishly. "Yeah, sorry. That happens. I'm more than happy to translate if you'd like."

"It's fucking weird, am I right?" Gwaine said, leaning around Merlin to peer at Gaius. "He sounds nutters before you know what he's doing."

"Yes, thank you, Gwaine, we've heard your opinion on the matter," Will grunted from his other side.

"Hey, you just admitted not an hour ago that you thought the same the first time."

"Not anymore, though. Not since I've properly understood what's going on _when I was a kid_. It's no different to listening in on a phone call."

Gwaine shot Will an exasperated glance. "Yeah, except he's talking to a frog. It's kind of weird only hearing half a conversation answered by burps."

"I believe the correct term is 'croak'," Merlin said. Gwaine only grinned at him, much to Arthur's grumble of "I do not _burp"._

"It's truly not the strangest of things I've seen," Gaius said, drawing their attention back towards him. He was smiling in a way that was barely noticeable but for the quiver of his lips. "When you've an eye sharpened for it, there are more frequent occurrences than you would expect."

"Like what?" Gwaine asked. "Other than your magic fingers and Merlin's talky-thingy?"

"Talky-thingy?" Merlin said with a smirk.

Gaius gave a small chuckle before replying. "I've met a young woman who could glimpse figments of the future. An elderly man who could spark a flame with a snap of his fingers. One of the most incredible I've seen another woman who could quite literally change her face."

"Her what?" Will said in a deceptively flat tone.

Gaius nodded. "Yes, she used to adjust her features marginally, not enough to notice immediately, but over the course of several days her face would be completely, unrecognisably altered."

Gwaine cringed slightly, embodying Merlin's thoughts. "That's kind of creepy."

"And similar to a transformation," Arthur said pointedly.

Merlin nodded his agreement before speaking as much to Gaius. "Do you think Nimueh's powers might be similar to that? But maybe towards other people?"

Gaius was silent for a moment before he slowly shook his head. "I don't know. Perhaps." There was serious contemplation in his tone, not even a hint of disbelief for the possibility. Merlin had to wonder just how much he'd seen that he didn't think such a possibility unrealistic even for a second. Just how much had Merlin missed of this strange world? He felt as though his own had been tipped on its axis.

Passing through security took longer than Merlin expected. Not that it was altogether unexpected, really, given that it was the residence of the royal family and numerous other people of importance in temporary abode, but it was still a little exasperating. They were subjected to a thorough once over that Gwaine declared in overloud words was more than he'd dare on a first date, thank you very much, before waiting, undergoing another scan for electronics, explosives – or as far as Merlin could tell – and an identification check. Gaius sorted out the latter, offering a vague explanation for Merlin's apparent pet frog and the spray bottle hooked into the back of his jeans. Merlin could only roll his eyes as Gwaine and Will both dissolved into snickers at the scepticism on the security guards' faces.

They did manage to pass through eventually, though, and Gaius set a brisk pace through the halls of the castle. Merlin followed close behind, Arthur in hand, and couldn't help but stare around like an awestruck tourist. It had clearly been outfitted for modernity, though not any kind of styling that Merlin accepted as the norm. Polished floors of rich, fine-grained timber stretched impeccably before them, walls alternating between elaborate paintings and smoothed wallpaper, patterned and plain. Arched doorways stretched into high ceilings of intricate cornices, light fittings dangling from on high that looked more likely to be constructed of crystal that glass.

From what Merlin glimpsed of inside the rooms they passed, of those that weren't shuttered behind carved doors and golden locks, were rich, vibrant carpets, expensive furnishings from extensive tables draped in white cloth as though waiting for diners to glistening ornaments, sprawling desks and pristine sofas that Merlin wouldn't have dared to sit on for fear of dirtying it with his inferiority. In such grandeur, Merlin considered than anyone less than royalty would feel as such. He almost felt hesitant to step upon the floor at all for fear of somehow leaving muddy tracks behind him.

"Where are we heading?" Merlin asked Gaius, unconsciously dropping his voice to avoid an echo. Even Gwaine had ceased his muttering, as though he, like Merlin, was questioning just what the fuck they were doing inside a castle. They weren't even simply visiting and it felt… it felt just strange. Out of place.

Gaius spared Merlin a glance over his shoulder before gesturing with a tilt of his head in the direction before him. "Should Nimueh be in attendance today, she would most likely be in her own rooms."

"She has her own rooms?" Gwaine asked. He whistled lowly. "Fuck, what've I got to do to get me one of those?"

"Befriend the crown prince," Arthur said flatly, and Merlin couldn't help but snort in amusement. His tone very clearly indicated that such wasn't going to happen.

They mounted a flight of stairs that looked more suited to a ballroom than that of a medieval castle, all draped in red carpet with bannisters glowing in white and gold leaf. Gaius led them down an adjacent corridor, passing portraits that followed their passage and polished runner tables boasting ornate vases of pale flowers alongside antique candlesticks, only for him to pause in step as the sound of voices trickled down the hall. "Hm," he murmured, frowning slightly with a lowering of bushy eyebrows. "This could be problematic."

Before Merlin could even ask what he was referring to, Gaius was starting forwards once more, curving around a T-junction and hanging a left to the sight of two men that couldn't be all that much older than Merlin standing across from one another either side of the hallway. They were both tall, broad-shouldered and imposing in the sleek black and red-trimmed suits of Welsh royal attendants, breathing the air of bodyguards as though they wore badges declaring as much. Given their positioning outside of a single closed door, Merlin could only suppose that they were the security for whoever was inside.

"Leon," Arthur said abruptly from Merlin's hands, sounding almost startled.

"What?" Merlin asked slowing in step as Gaius continued towards them.

Arthur was staring at one of the young men, the one with the curly red-blonde hair and an admittedly approachable countenance in spite of his size. "Leon's my – my bodyguard," Arthur said shortly, though Merlin suspected there was something more to his role for his almost-stutter. "He and Percival both are my primary attendants." He tilted his head towards the even larger man with a crew cut and arms the width of small tree trunks folded across his chest.

Merlin paused in step. His primary attendants… did that mean that whoever was inside the room they were stationed outside of was Arthur's supposed doppelganger? Even the thought of it made Merlin uneasy. Gaius hadn't slowed despite Merlin falling behind, hadn't seemed to notice, and was already nodding and raising his voice in greeting towards the two men in what was clearly familiarity. Would it lead to something further? Would he stick his head into the room with Arthur's doppelganger and draw him out?

At the thought, Merlin couldn't help but cringe. With Gaius' ready acceptance of what he'd previously considered utterly impossible, the transformation seemed to be growing more and more of a possibility in Merlin's mind. How would it feel for Arthur to see his own clone – doppelganger, whatever – when he was in such a state? Merlin wasn't sure but he couldn't imagine it would be a particularly pleasant experience for him.

"What do you want me to do?" He murmured quietly, bowing his head slightly over Arthur as he slowed to a stop.

Arthur seemed to struggle to draw his gaze away from his bodyguards, slowing turning to glance up at him. "What?"

"If it would be uncomfortable for you to go near them in case you… you know." Merlin shrugged, hoping that his translation was understandable enough. Arthur only blinked up at him.

"What's this?" Gwaine said from his shoulder. He and Will had both paused alongside him.

"They're his bodyguards," Merlin explained. "Which would mean that –"

"They're probably technically guarding the prince right now, huh?" Gwaine said promptly.

"You know, you always surprise me with your outbursts of random perceptiveness," Will said.

"Why thank you, Willy."

"It wasn't a compliment."

"So what, we need a distraction of sorts to get past them?" Gwaine said, ignoring Will in favour of turning back towards Merlin. "Good ol' diversionary tactics so you can slip past without being noticed?"

Merlin frowned at him, confused. "What?"

Gwaine clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I've got this covered. It would be my pleasure." Then he was striding after Gaius, to where Gaius had paused alongside Leon and Percival to exchange short, quiet words. His step was all swagger and Merlin could only utter a muffled groan as he recognised _that_ all too well.

"He's going to –" Will began, before uttering a long-suffering groan of his own. "Oh, please tell me he's not going to try and flirt with them."

"This is Gwaine we're talking about, Will," Merlin sighed.

"What the -? Diversion my arse. This is self-serving behaviour at it's worst." Will took a lunging step then quickly several more as he hastened after Gwaine with a hiss of "Gwaine, get your arse back here!"

"Is he always like that?" Arthur murmured.

"Which one?" Merlin replied. "Gwaine or Will?"

"Both."

"Definitely. All the time."

Arthur was half turned in Merlin's palm to face him, staring up at him sceptically. "Gwaine's a shameless flirt?"

"You couldn't have picked that?" Merlin asked. "I would have thought that like minds recognised one another."

"We're not like minds."

"Well, your chronic philandering seems to suggest otherwise."

"I'm not –" Arthur began, before abruptly he croaked in a sharp burp of what Merlin took to be surprise. Or anger. "Nimueh!"

Merlin barely even had time to glance over his shoulder before Arthur had flung himself from his palm and bounded around him in the direction they'd come. He twisted just in time to catch a glimpse of a short woman, back towards him and disappearing around the corner, before Arthur, croaking in rapidly rising fury, vanished after her.

"Hey, wait!" Merlin called, before he decided such was useless. With barely a glance in his friends' direction, a moment for Gaius still talking to the bodyguards Leon and Percival, he tore after Arthur.

It was a game of cat and mouse, with two successive cats chasing two fleeing mice. Merlin barely managed to swing around a corner before he caught a glimpse of Arthur disappearing around another, springing across the smooth, polished floors and practically rebounding off walls as he did. Merlin barely even saw the splendour around him in his flight, somehow managing to avoid tripping over the narrow runner tables and only having to slow twice when he nearly knocked several vases from their seats atop said tables. Thank fuck neither of them broken; they'd likely cost him more than he could make in his entire life.

Down passageways, through a door and passing through what looked to be a dining room that had never in fact been used for its pristine, perfectly clean perfection, Merlin chased Arthur as he in turn chased Nimueh. She must have been running, for there was no way the woman would otherwise be able to outpace them. Which meant she knew exactly what she was doing.

Merlin only caught up to them at the top a flight of stairs just as grand as those he'd followed Gaius up before. It could have very easily been the same one, in fact; Merlin would admit to being just a little star-struck by his surroundings and he'd never had much of a talent for directionality. He skidded to a stop on the strip of carpet at the top of the stairs and it was nothing short of a miracle that he didn't squash Arthur in his stumble.

The first thing he noticed was that Arthur was trembling, shaking as though he was about to keel over. Without thought, Merlin unhooked the spray bottle from the back of his jeans and shot a series of squirts right at him.

Arthur squawked indignantly, but he only spared Merlin a brief glance, a brief glare, as he wiped at the showered droplets coating his head with his hands in rapid swipes. He turned back to the woman before him a moment later. Merlin followed the line of his gaze.

Nimueh was a small woman. Short and slender, she was dressed in a pressed pantsuit with thick, dark auburn hair curling across her shoulders as though she hadn't just run halfway across Baenwyn Castle. Her stature suggested her unimposing, except for the fact that she somehow managed to appear as such. Merlin couldn't quite put his finger on what it was that made her seem so; was it her expression, the slight, knowing smirk that touched her lips and quirked one eyebrow just slightly? The almost-agelessness of her face that left Merlin unsure if she was barely older than he or old enough to be his mother? The casualness of her stance that suggested she was more than capable of holding her own against someone the size of one of Arthur's bodyguards? Merlin wasn't sure, but all of it together, that and the fact that she had shifted her gaze from Arthur towards him, sent a shiver down his spine.

Whoever Nimueh was, Merlin didn't think it would be a good idea to get on her wrong side, not to prod despite the questions he wanted to blurt out to her. He thought even less so when a slow smile spread across her lips. She looked like a cat who'd spotted a blissfully ignorant rat.

"You would be Emrys." The statement wasn't a question.

Merlin shifted uncomfortably in step, fiddling with the spray bottle in his hands. "I guess you're the person who's been telling people I am, then?"

Nimueh's smile widened. "Not people. Just the one person."

Merlin found himself frowning. "Why would you do that? I'm not –"

"You're a descendant of Emrys, yes," Nimueh cut him off, nodding her head knowingly. "Few enough people possess the gift of tongues in this world."

"So naturally you send me on a fucking wild goose chase to find one of those 'few enough'," Arthur snapped in a particularly sharp croak.

Nimueh ignored him. "Well, I suppose he's managed to achieve that much, in finding you. Arthur may not be as incompetent as I give him credit for."

"Incompetent," Arthur practically spat, stamping a foot onto the carpet. It didn't make the slightest sound. "I'm far from incompetent, you stuck up, self-entitled bitch! I've done what you told me to do, now fucking fix me."

Merlin was suddenly very glad no one but he was able to understand Arthur. He didn't think that cursing Nimueh was the way to go about getting on her good side. "You know, he can understand you, right?" He said.

Nimueh's eyebrow arched further. "Can he really? How curious."

"You didn't know that?" Merlin asked in surprise. "Weren't you the one who turned him into a frog?"

"Of course I was," Nimueh said so promptly that Merlin was surprised all over again. It seemed so commonplace, as though such a thing were acceptable, was _believable_. Which, until that morning, it most certainly hadn't been. Merlin found his world rocked on its axis all over again. "But that hardly means I fully comprehend the extend of my creation's capabilities."

"Creations?" Arthur seethed. "I am _not_ your bloody creation, you fucking bitch, sodding mutton dressed up as –"

"Then how did you know you wouldn't hurt him when you did it?" Merlin asked, more to stem the flow of Arthur's curses than anything else. The frog's frustration might have died slightly since that morning but apparently it was only to catch a breather before renewing. Or maybe it was simply Nimueh's presence that provoked as much. Yes, it was probably Nimueh.

Merlin found that he couldn't really blame Arthur for that. He'd probably be pretty pissed off if someone turned him into a frog too.

Nimueh only shrugged in reply. "I didn't, really. I've done so before, of course, but each individual case is different. I simply deduced that the benefits of doing so would outweigh the potential costs."

Arthur's fluent cursing stuttered to a halt at that. Merlin found himself similarly temporarily rendered mute. Only briefly, however, before he managed to speak once more. "You… you didn't know if you'd hurt him, the Prince of Wales, so you turned him into a –"

"A frog, yes," Nimueh finished for him mildly, as though such were hardly worthy of comment. "To teach him a lesson. One that he has apparently not yet learned."

Arthur was suddenly seething one more. Merlin could feel the anger radiating from him even before he spoke and hastened to cut him off. He found himself more than a little horrified but his indignation was better than Arthur's fury. "What lesson exactly? How do we turn him back? Can you -?"

"He hasn't told you?" Nimueh interrupted him once more. She turned her faintly smiling gaze down to where Arthur was fidgeting in frustration once more, a dark, mottled smudge on the scarlet carpet. "Arthur, you should know better than that. In such an incompetent state as you are, I would think even you could attempt to bend your spine and seek help."

At her words, Merlin abruptly found himself annoyed. No, he was angry, even. Nimueh was almost treating the entire situation like a joke. Admittedly, Merlin didn't think all that much of Arthur; he'd been nothing if not presumptuous, assuming and demanding since they'd met, even if his behaviour had been amusing. But he could similarly see how such an approach might be driven by near hysteria, by veritable panic for the situation he'd found himself in. Merlin could only imagine what it would be like to experience such. Thankfully – hopefully – he would never have to. The fact that he had to consider it a possibility was daunting enough.

"He has, actually," Merlin said, tone clipped. "He said you told him to come and find me 'cause I was the only one who could help him. And he said that you told him to kiss a princess of something to change him back into a human."

"Did he, now?" Nimueh said, a smirk replacing her smile as though something Merlin had said amused her. Slowly she turned her gaze down towards Arthur, amusement turning her eyes a faintly sparkling glassiness. "Is that how you interpreted my words?"

"What do you mean 'interpreted'?" Arthur asked, Merlin repeating his words for Nimueh's ears almost before he'd said them.

Nimueh very deliberately ignored the question. She didn't even glance towards Merlin as she spoke in continuation. "Have you found yourself a princess who you deem your equal and received her favour, then?"

"Favour?" Merlin asked before Arthur could speak.

"Her kiss," Nimueh supplied, still without sparing him a glance.

Arthur's mouth actually opened and closed for a moment. The angry waves radiating from him were tangible once more, like a physical heat. "You said I had to find Emrys," he croaked, Merlin repeating his words for Nimueh's ears.

Nimueh's smirk deepened. "I said you needed to find Emrys as he was the one who could help you. Then receive a kiss from the equal of a one Prince Arthur."

"That's ridiculous," Arthur snapped. "A kiss? What kind of a princess would kiss a fucking frog? And where the hell am I going to find one? The only princess in any proximity is –"

"This is all a little stupidly similar to the fairy tale," Merlin said, speaking through Arthur's rambling tirade. It wasn't like Nimueh would understand more than a handful of grumbling croaks anyway.

Nimueh finally lifted her gaze towards him, eyes still flashing with amusement. She appeared nothing if not self-satisfied. "It is, isn't it? I thought it somewhat poetic, given that Arthur is something of an anomaly when it comes to royalty."

"Anomaly how?" Merlin asked, speaking over Arthur's increasingly loud ranting. His croaks were actually echoing down the stairwell.

Nimueh tilted her head slightly, peering up at Merlin as though he were simple. "Surely you haven't overlooked that Prince Arthur is a right man-whore who shirks his responsibilities where he can and maintains his status as businessman and prince as much through luck as any particular skill?"

Merlin blinked, startled. Could she be anymore blunt? That was… that was almost cruel, especially to say as much when Arthur stood – squatted – right before her. Arthur himself even stuttered to a halt in his tirade. Only for a second however. "What the _fuck_ did you just say?"

Nimueh seemed to hear his words even without Merlin's translation. "You know I speak the truth, Arthur. You have taken your own mother's words of so long ago too far to heart. Grow up a little, hm?" Before Merlin could ask what she meant by that, she turned and started down the scarlet-draped steps, effectively ending their conversation.

Merlin started forwards, unconsciously raising a hand in a gesture of wait. The spray bottle he held aloft alongside it was nothing if not comical, but he barely noticed. He had so much he wanted to ask – what did Nimueh know about this 'magic'? Could she really do something like it too? Could _other_ people do it? How was any of it even possible? But that which tripped from his tongue was something other entirely. "Wait! You can't just leave. What do we do? How can we turn him back?"

Nimueh paused halfway down the stairwell, turning to glance over her shoulder as Merlin peered after her. "I believe we've just discussed this."

"You can't do this," Arthur exclaimed, and there was more desperation, almost a pleading note in his tone rather than demand. "How am I going to get a kiss from a princess? How will I even _meet_ a princess when I'm a frog?"

"And what about – what about his duties?" Merlin added, continuing from Arthur despite knowing that Nimueh hadn't understood him. "You've made a doppelganger or whatever, but surely someone will notice, won't they? Whoever you've transformed into his body surely can't be as believable as the real thing." He knew he sounded a little desperate himself, though for the life of him couldn't fathom why. Nothing except that he suddenly felt _really bad_ for Arthur and unexpectedly affronted on his behalf.

Nimueh waved a hand in their direction as though brushing aside their words. "Arthur's understudy will do a fine job, I'm sure. The frog I've transformed into his body in his stead has done a remarkable job under my guidance."

"You – you've seriously transformed a frog into the temporary prince?" Merlin stuttered, just as Arthur said as much in a far more cuss-studded manner.

Nimueh's smirk renewed itself. "An appropriate exchange, don't you think?" Then she turned and continued down the stairs, elegant steps making her seem as though she was gliding rather than walking. "Good luck, Arthur. I sincerely hope for your sake if not as much for anyone else's that you manage to find your kiss. If not…" She trailed off as she reached the bottom of the stairwell and paused once more in step. The glance she spared them over her shoulder was nothing if not taunting, lasting only for a moment before she continued from the room. In seconds she'd disappeared with only the echo of her words in her wake.

Merlin stared after her. He was at a loss. What…? What the…? What did they do now? True, Merlin had heard from Arthur of Nimueh's words, how she'd declared he had to 'kiss a princess' like the fairy tale of old to turn him back into a prince, but he'd thought that perhaps if they'd talked to her she might have eased the sentence just a little. Even put a time span on it or something instead. Surely that would be enough, wouldn't it?

But no, apparently not. And drawing his gaze down to where Arthur perched at the head of the stairs staring after Nimueh, frozen as if in horror – which he very possibly was – Merlin couldn't help but feel sorry for him. True, he was a prat, and a royal pain in the arse at that, but no one should be subjected to what he was being afflicted with. The worst part of it was that there was nothing they could do about it other than follow Nimueh's instructions. It wasn't like they could really tell anyone to convince them, not like they could Gaius who was clearly already in the know on that particular subject. Who would believe them? No, their only option was to actually find a princess, somehow convince her to kiss Arthur, and turn him back.

Merlin didn't know why Nimueh had done it – sure, Arthur was reputedly a sorry excuse for a prince but even so – and he didn't understand any of the 'taking his mother's words' part, but he abruptly decided: he would help Arthur. It wasn't fair what had happened to him, so Merlin would help fix him. As Nimueh had said, he was probably about the only person who could.

"Arthur," he said, dropping to a crouch beside the immobilised frog-prince. In that moment Merlin was about as convinced as he could be of the validity of his identity claims, as entirely, completely, incomprehensibly irrational and stupid as it might seem. "Hey, Arthur?"

Slowly, Arthur turned towards him and, there was very real horror in his expression that Merlin could detect. He didn't speak, however, but to utter a slight, warbling croak that could have very much been a strangled utterance from a human.

Merlin struggled to offer him a smile. "So… I know this sounds shit, and kind of stupid and impossible but… I'm going to help you, alright?" He paused, biting his lip with a frown as a thought occurred to him. "And I think I might have an idea."

Arthur stared up at him for a long moment more before he seemed capable of replying. "What's that?" He said, and there was only the barest touch of demand in his words. He sounded utterly woebegone.

Merlin held out his hand for Arthur to climb on board and rose to standing once more. Before he could reply, however, the rapid sound of approaching footsteps drew up behind them. Merlin turned just in time to see Gwaine and Will skid into view.

"Thank fuck!" Will gasped, panting heavily as though he'd run a marathon.

"We just marathoned, like, this entire fucking castle looking for you," Gwaine panted in turn, leaning his hands heavily onto his knees.

"Where the hell've you been?"

"A little heads up before you up and bugger off next time, Merls."

"You know they've got security in this place. Really fucking good security."

"I half expected to find you on the executors block for trespassing or something."

Merlin glanced between his two friends as they exchanged rapid-fire exclamations, settling on Gwaine with a raised eyebrow at his final words. Will had similarly turned towards him with a derisive expression. "Gwaine, I hardly think I'd be executed," Merlin said practically. "At least not immediately."

"And how fucking archaic are you?" Will added. Shaking his head, he turned back to Merlin. "Where've you been, anyways? Seriously, you couldn't have told us before taking off like that?"

"Sorry," Merlin muttered, dropping his gaze down to Arthur resting in his palm. "We, um… we found Nimueh."

Gwaine and Will were silenced for a moment before Gwaine spoke with a gushing sigh. "Well, that's convenient. Did she tell you how to fix him or whatever?"

Merlin nodded resignedly. "Yeah. He's still got to get a kiss from a princess. That's it."

Gwaine and Will stared in silence for another long pause before both snorted simultaneously. "That's really the only solution?" Will said, shaking his head. "Well, that's not going to happen,."

Gwaine nodded. "I think our frog-prince here is about as close to royalty as we're ever likely to get." Merlin could only agree with his words, at least in general sentiment.

"So what do we do?" Will continued, adopting a slight frown. He actually folded his arms across his chest; Merlin could see the objections rising on his tongue even before he voiced them. "You finally going to ditch the toad?"

Merlin frowned in turn, actually annoyed at his friend for the first time in a long time. He rarely felt inclined to getting annoyed at anyone; maybe he was just tense that day. "No, I'm not going to 'ditch him'," he said. "And he's a frog, not a toad."

"Yeah, Will, he's a toad," Gwaine echoed tauntingly. He sobered slightly almost immediately, however, as he glanced between the two of them. "So what, we've got to find a princess to kiss him? Do we go and look for Princess Morgana now? Cause personally I wouldn't mind –"

"Fuck, Gwaine, no," Will said with a disgusted cringe. "They're brother and sister."

"So?"

"So, haven't you heard the fairy tale? I don't think that sibling affection is really the kind of relationship the prince and princess had."

Gwaine shrugged. "Yeah, and that's a fairy tale. This is reality. How do we know how similar they're supposed to be?"

"More than you'd guess, I'm thinking," Merlin sighed, remembering Nimueh's words. It would be just like what little he'd seen of her to render Princess Morgana's assistance moot.

"What?" Will asked, glancing towards him.

Merlin shrugged aside his question. "I've got an idea. It might work but... It'll probably take a while, so I can drop you guys off anywhere if you don't want to come."

He knew even before he'd asked that neither of his friends would even consider leaving him at that moment and was confirmed in his knowledge a moment later as they replied simultaneously. "You kidding me? Leave me behind?" Gwaine said as Will muttered a muted, "You'd probably end up tripping down a flight of stairs and breaking your neck if I left you alone".

Merlin couldn't help but smile as he nodded. "Alright, then," he said, turning his gaze down to Arthur who peered up at him dubiously, the horror only just fading from his perceived expression. In that moment he made a promise to himself at least, if not out loud. He'd damn-well help Arthur because… well, because it was the right thing to do. He glanced back up towards his friends. "How do you guys feel about a trip to London?"


	5. Chapter 5 - Pre-Metamorphosis

**Chapter 5: Pre-Metamorphosis**

The drive to London was just as long as the one from Ceredigion to Cardiff had been. Longer, even, considering the traffic that slowed them to a sloughing pace when they reached the city proper.

Arthur sat in the front seat again. After they'd dropped Gaius back home with a vague explanation that they'd 'work something out' – something that Arthur perceived Gaius had been dubious for at the very least but hadn't objected to – it had been handed to him exclusively. Not without complaint from Gwaine and Will, naturally, but a word from Merlin had silenced their objections. It was just one more indication to Arthur of just how much Merlin's friends utterly adored him; he'd rapidly reached such a conclusion over the past weeks that Gwaine and Will only really tolerated each other for their mutual friendship with Merlin rather than any particular favour of one another themselves. True, they likely didn't dislike each other half as much as they pretended to, but it certainly wasn't anything on their friendship with Merlin.

Arthur had noticed quite a few things like that about Merlin. He didn't think that even Merlin himself really realised.

Not that Arthur had much of a mind for Gwaine or Will and their continued, almost constant banter in the back of the car. He didn't have much of a thought for anything but Nimueh, what she'd said, and where they were going. Arthur hadn't even realised how quiet he'd become, lost as he was in his thoughts, until briefly into their trip when Merlin turned towards him with a murmured, "Are you alright?"

Arthur didn't understand that. He didn't understand Merlin at all, really, or so he'd come to realise, and his confused thoughts on the matter were put into words by Will's grumble as he leaned forwards from the back seat and poked Merlin in the shoulder about half an hour into their trip. "Merlin, why are you even bothering with this? It's not your problem, you know." He sounded nothing if not indignant on Merlin's behalf.

Arthur was entitled. He knew he bordered upon being – if he didn't fulfil the role of – a spoilt princeling, knew he demanded because he was able to and could get away with it. People naturally did what he told them to, and though at times it vexed him because people _should_ have their own opinions, their autonomy, their rights and freedom of decision just as he sorely demanded for himself, he still used that adherence to his own benefit. He still told those who scuttled around him to jump and they didn't even pause to question how high, simply reaching for the stars overhead in a desperate scramble to fulfil his wishes.

He didn't like it. Arthur had never liked it as it made him feel distinctly other, that he was utilising his name rather than his merits to get what he wanted. But by the same token, Arthur had long since grown used to it, had accepted it, had acknowledged it as the norm and even came to expect it from those around him. He demanded and people responded. It was as simple as that.

Arthur had barely considered the situation when he'd made just such demands of Merlin. He hadn't had the headspace, so frantic and desperate – and resultantly furious – at being turned into a _fucking frog_ as he was. It was similarly as simple as him needing help and Merlin, as Emrys or whatever Nimueh called him, was the only one who could provide it. He was desperate and there was no room for formalities, for niceties and gratitude.

Except that Will had asked, and Arthur recognised the truth in the question. It was wrong, of course; he was a prince, was entitled to being practically waited upon hand and foot like lords of old, but it still wasn't right. Arthur wouldn't say as much – definitely wouldn't say as much – but Merlin shouldn't _have_ to wait on him like a bloody manservant, drop everything in his life to help him even though Arthur would demand, knew he would demand, time and time again that he do just that, even if his demands were spat in the face of. And yet Merlin had; he'd quite literally left what Arthur had witnessed as being a jam-packed working day, his responsibilities to his mother, the estate and the workers there, and taken a spur-of-the-moment day trip to Cardiff for Arthur. And now to London.

Arthur didn't know why he did it. He didn't understand. Arthur certainly wouldn't have for anyone, much less a frog that could very easily be crushed in the palm of a human hand. He didn't feel… guilty exactly, for Arthur had muffled any inclinations within himself towards guilt a long, long time ago, but it certainly made him uneasy.

Even more so because Merlin had done it. He _had_ dropped everything and didn't even appear annoyed at having to do so. And at Will's words, at the silent expectancy of Gwaine behind him, he only shrugged. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because it's not your problem," Will said, and there was very real annoyance in his tone. Arthur had come to the understanding that much of Will's disgruntlement when it came to Merlin and the entire situation was grounded in his protectiveness. He was almost like an older brother. "You shouldn't have to help him and go so bloody far out of your way."

Arthur didn't say anything, even if he felt the urge to snap at Will to _shut up_ because he needed Merlin's help right now and Will's suggestions weren't helping. He didn't speak but simply stared sidelong up at Merlin where he was staring fixedly ahead of them himself. A slight frown touched his forehead, his lips just slightly pursed in… was he annoyed too? Arthur didn't think he'd seen Merlin anything more severe than fondly exasperated at any instance over the past weeks that he'd known him. It was like seeing part of a picture that hadn't been revealed before. Surprising and oddly disconcerting

"It doesn't matter that it's not my problem," Merlin finally said. Despite the irritation in his expression, his tone was mild. "If I can help then why wouldn't I?"

"Maybe because you shouldn't have to," Will said in more of a grumble this time. He sounded more annoyed than Merlin did for the entire situation, even though Arthur had _heard_ Merlin offer him an out. He didn't _have_ to come along. "Because it's a thankless job you've been landed with by a thankless arsehole."

"No offence intended, Your Majesty," Gwaine put in with a crooked grin directed towards Arthur.

"Oh no, offence entirely intended," Will corrected with a frown at Gwaine. "You fucking suck up; getting on his good side to try and land yourself a room in Baenwyn Castle, are you?"

"I would do nothing of the sort."

"Oh, then is it to try and get him to put a good word to his bodyguards?" Will rolled his eyes. "You think more with the brain between your legs than the one in your head, Gwaine."

Gwaine smiled with something of a self-satisfied smirk. "Hey, you can't blame a man for trying. Have I told you I'm thinking of becoming a bodyguard now?"

"So not a lawyer anymore?" Merlin asked idly, sparing Gwaine a brief glance over his shoulder.

Gwaine pressed a hand to his chest, face smoothing into resolution. "They heart will take itself where it will."

Merlin's lips quivered. "I don't think it's your heart that's leading you in this case."

"Do you mind not throwing us completely off track?" Will sighed, and Arthur could hear the repeated roll in his eyes even if he didn't bother to glance over shoulder towards him this time to see. "Seriously, Merlin. I mean it. You shouldn't feel obliged to held every tosser that asks you nicely."

"Or not so nicely," Gwaine added.

"He's technically a frog at the moment," Merlin said, as though such made any difference at all.

"Missing the point here, Merls."

"There's nothing wrong with doing the prince a solid," Merlin said. "There's nothing wrong with helping _anyone_ , you know."

"Yeah, but you don't have to," Will said with a frustrated huff. "Especially for something so… so…" He waved his hand in the air in what Arthur could only interpret as being a description of the impossibility of it all. Of the magic, of the transformation – of everything.

"No, go on," Gwaine said with a grin that Arthur could feel without seeing his expression. "So what, exactly? I'd love to hear your description."

"Shut the fuck up, Gwaine," Will muttered.

Merlin didn't answer. He apparently didn't feel the need to say more, even if Arthur was still curious. Why was he doing so much? Of course, Arthur could only be heartily relieved, even a little grateful, though he knew he would struggle to admit it aloud, but he couldn't understand it. There really was nothing in it for Merlin, and the longer they drove in silence, the more Arthur was left to his own thoughts and contemplation of Nimueh and what she'd said, the more he was baffled over it.

Why?

Why would Merlin bother?

People weren't so altruistic as to do such things for no reason. Arthur knew that. He knew that without having to accept himself as a selfish person, though he knew innately that such was indeed what he was. Arthur was selfish, self-serving, and he couldn't understand what Merlin got out of the situation that would urge him to help. It was… it was utterly baffling. Nimueh had directed Arthur to find him. Was it for more than because of his ability to speak to animals, to Arthur as a frog? Had she known that Merlin, that her perceived Emrys, would help him just for the hell of it? She'd certainly known enough about the rest of the situation.

About his mother's words.

And thus was the primary reason that Arthur was largely silent for the trip to London. Aside from his abrupt confusion over the very nature of what the hell Merlin was and his horror for the visit to Baenwyn Castle – and thank _fuck_ he hadn't come across Morgana, or his father or, heaven help him, his doppelganger. Aside from his anger at Nimueh herself for not fixing the mess she'd wrought, he was… thoughtful. And as they so often did, those seemingly age-old memories of the words his mother had told him when he was barely seven years old, some of the last she'd voiced with any coherency, rung in his mind. They were likely as much compiled memories of memory as any thing real, but they still resounded true.

 _"Take every chance and every opportunity, Arthur. Never look back and think not of the consequences of your actions too deeply for they'll only impinge upon the now. You live for yourself, in the moment, and don't you care a wit about what anyone else thinks of you. This is_ your _life, regardless of who you are and regardless of your name. You live for yourself."_

Arthur hadn't truly understood what his mother had meant when he'd first heard those words. He hadn't understood their true meaning, what drove them, what lay beneath, even though the words themselves imprinted upon him like a scar. He hadn't known until he was older that his mother had always been somewhat resentful of the limelight and exalted status afforded her by her marriage to Arthur's father, that she had been pained by the restraints placed upon her decisions and the image she had to maintain for the public.

She hadn't wanted that for Arthur. So she'd all but tattooed the inclination for otherwise into his mind.

Arthur didn't begrudge that. He didn't begrudge that his mother had perhaps carelessly brainwashed him into disregarding rules and regulations, that those words and the urging behind them had similarly urged him towards living in the moment, to seizing every pleasure and delight as though it was his last. Neither could he blame her for how he had 'turned out' as so many headlines referred tp him as; Nimueh said his progress in his father's consulting had been as much luck as his own skill, but he knew she was wrong. Arthur was objective enough about his own merits – at least some of the time – to know that he was smart, that he could work hard when he wanted to, that he could sweet talk those around him into doing what he wanted them to just as well as he could demand. It was simply that Arthur didn't bother; why would he when demanding got the job done so much faster?

But that was the truth of it. Arthur had built his whole life around his mother's words, the suggestion they'd placed in his mind that he had nurtured and germinated like a living seed. It was who he was: Arthur _would_ take any opportunity, and he _wouldn't_ think about the consequences or what his actions would do for his public image. It was his life, regardless of the fact that he was a prince. He was allowed to live it.

And yet Nimueh called him childish, like she had a right to. Like she hadn't loved Arthur's mother more than anyone else in her world and still quoted her words and habits to this day. Nimueh was the one who accused him of living thoughtlessly, and had subsequently trapped him into the body of a frog to remedy his wayward manner. Like that would actually help; what good did she think kissing a princess would do in 'straightening him out' anyway?

Arthur didn't know. He didn't understand it really, and would admit that a big part of his confusion lay in that he was terrified. Of his current state, of being trapped in an unfamiliar and awkward body that was slowly and disconcertingly become less and less unfamiliar. Of Nimueh herself and what it would mean for him that she had acted upon him as such. She had power, did that woman. Terrifying power, and though Arthur had never considered it before, he would have to factor that into the equation when dealing with her. He didn't know what he would do about it, about her, if he turned back into a human – no, not if. _When_. _When_ , because he would. He definitely, definitely would.

He just had to rely on Merlin for that. God help him, Arthur barely knew the young man in the seat alongside his and he was practically entrusting him with his humanity. He'd _thought_ he had, had thought him little more that a simple-minded farm boy who had somehow managed to get into vet medicine, but now he wasn't so sure.

Arthur wasn't used to not knowing. He didn't like it one bit.

They were creeping through the thick, clogged streets of London at what Arthur noted as being nearly five o'clock in the afternoon when he finally decided to break that silence. When Merlin absent-mindedly shot him with another squirt from the spray bottle – something that would never not be humiliating but Arthur was struggling to put up with out of necessity nonetheless – he cleared his throat in a croak for attention.

Merlin glanced at him sidelong. "Hm?"

"What?" Gwaine asked from behind him.

"Not talking to you," Merlin replied, tilting his head slightly at Arthur.

Arthur swallowed down his awkwardness. He was never awkward – ever – and yet for some reason now he felt discomforted. And it was more than for the fact that swallowing in itself was discomforting; Arthur had heard somewhere that frogs swallowed using their eyeballs but hadn't really considered just what that meant until he had to do it himself. "What exactly did you have in mind? You said you had an idea?"

A small smile touched Merlin's lips. "You finally asked."

"What?"

"Nothing. Just surprised it took you that long to ask."

Arthur bit back the urge to grumble at the faint condescension in Merlin's tone. No one was ever condescending to him. No one dared be so – or at least no one except Morgana, but she was a special case. "So?"

Merlin shifted his hands on the steering wheel, declining Will's offer to take over driving for a bit. "I've got a friend who's a journalist," he said, shrugging slightly. "Lance. He moved to London a little while ago." Merlin glanced at Arthur sidelong one more. "He might be able to help us out. He was the one I called before when we dropped Gaius off."

Arthur nodded slightly in recollection of Merlin taking himself aside as Gaius loaded Will and Gwaine up with supplies of nibbles for the trip. He'd registered as much only detachedly, being too broodingly lost in thought to consider him. "And? What of it?"

"Lance is, ah… he's kind of got connections."

Will snorted from the seat behind Arthur. "One connection only, really." His tone didn't sound more than a little amused, however, and Arthur fathomed that he was likely fondly reminiscent of that fact.

"Bloody good one in my opinion," Gwaine said. "Come on, how many freelance journalists do you know that could get in what's-her-name's good books just for being a nice bloke?"

"By what's-her-name I presume you mean the princess?" Will replied.

Arthur blinked. Wait. "What?"

Merlin shot him another smile. "Yeah, Lance got this interview with Princess Guinevere a couple of years back and they sort of hit it off."

"Hit… it off?"

"Well, Lance says it's not really in _that_ way," Merlin clarified. "Apparently the princess just thinks he's a really top bloke and usually gives him exclusive interviews and stuff because she likes him."

"You know, I'm pretty sure it's not 'that way' only because Lance is too spineless to ask her out," Gwaine said. The same fondness touched his tone as had Will's. Arthur suspected that whoever this Lance was he was mutually favoured by Merlin and his friends both.

Merlin scrunched his nose slightly in an expression of disapproval. "I wouldn't call it spineless, exactly."

"Yeah," Will agreed, almost accusingly. "Can you blame him? I don't think I'd have the guts. Christ, who'd have the balls to ask out a princess, especially being someone from the backstreets of up north."

"Lance seems to think himself beneath her for some reason," Merlin confided to Arthur in a lowered tone.

"Which is stupid," Gwaine said. "Our Lance could have the prince and princess on each arm and be perfectly suited to such a spot."

"What is it with you and sibling incest today?" Will muttered, shaking his head as Arthur glanced at him over his shoulder.

"How is that incest?" Gwaine asked, raising an eyebrow indignantly. "I'm just saying –"

"Please don't."

"No, what I meant was –"

"Please. Don't."

Merlin continued as Gwaine and Will dissolved into – another – argument behind them. He seemed very adept at ignoring his friend's antics; Arthur could only wonder at how long they'd had such a friendship that he could so easily overlook their half-hearted antagonism. "I called Lance and asked for a favour. I don't know how likely it'll be that he'll manage when we get around to asking him, especially on short notice. We might have to stay here a few days, but it's possible he could get us a chance to talk to the princess."

Arthur stared. He stared and for once found himself speechless. Merlin had… he'd… he'd was actually making a profound effort to find a princess, to help him meet someone who could truly change him back, if Nimueh's words were anything to go by. Nimueh words had been a blow to Arthur; like a muscle that had been tensed for too long, her slap in the face had been like a catalyst of fatigue, and though the urge to get angry, to fix himself, to struggle and claw his way back to humanity still existed, Arthur was exhausted. Deflated, like Nimueh's barb had popped a pin into the balloon of his resilience. Arthur was smart, he was headstrong and he was persistent. And yet nearly two months of struggle was… it was exhausting.

Suddenly, however, just when Arthur floundered, Merlin rose to the party. Disregarding his prior disbelief, he appeared to have dedicated himself to helping Arthur as though he genuinely cared. Merlin was making _such_ an effort, for Arthur, and though a big part of Arthur was smugly preaching that "So he should", another part was quietly murmuring in wonder. What the _hell_ would urge anyone to do that? Arthur wasn't even sure that Leon or Percival would go so far, and not only were they his friends but also his bodyguards, paid to jump to his every command. No one else would likely be so ready to pursue such a seemingly irrational situation.

Arthur didn't ask Merlin why. Instead, his tongue seemed to speak for him as he replied, "Well, I can imagine that will likely be only half of the difficulty."

Merlin nodded, as though reading Arthur's thoughts. As though reading the meaning behind his words. "Yeah, I thought that. I honestly have no idea how we, who are very definitely absolute strangers to her, will get the princess to kiss you."

"That's why we've got Lance," Gwaine chimed in, breaking from his argument with Will momentarily to interrupt. He leaned forwards, one arm each propping on Arthur's and Merlin's seats. "Reckon this Princess Guinevere is sweet on our Lance too, I'd say."

"But convincing Lance to help?" Will asked.

Gwaine brushed aside the suggestion as though it was hardly worthy of thought. "Lance doesn't say no to anybody, 'specially not Merlin. He'll help, I'm sure."

Arthur maintained his silence as the chatter and speculations ensued, staring sidelong up at Merlin. This Lance… well, Arthur didn't think he was the only one who seemed to have an inclination towards helping people. Or frogs, as the case may be. Maybe it was what made Merlin and this Lance friends in the first place? It was… strange. Arthur had rarely been one to go out of his way for others and only for his friends when absolutely necessary; not outside of his duties, anyway, and then often begrudgingly because he rarely actually want to. It was simply how it was. He was a lone ranger, danced to his own tune, and didn't need others for anything so why should others need him?

But this. This was decidedly other to everything he'd always known.

The streets of London were familiar to Arthur, glimpses becoming stares as they passed towards Westminster and the traffic grew even more congested. Arthur found himself caught by the sights, so different to the quiet, sedate silences of the Emerson estate he's experienced over the past weeks. He stared at the towering buildings interspersed by juxtaposing wide and narrow streets. His eyes caught on Big Ben as the trickled past it, chugging across Westminster Bridge, only to be drawn by the distinctive shape of the London Eye as they left the River Thames behind them. Then was back into the thick confusion of streets, the melody of blaring horns and growling engines, of raised voices calling across the road accompanied by waving arms and running feet.

It was true that Arthur spent much of his time in Cardiff, but he spent almost as much in London when he wasn't overseas. He had an apartment in the inner city, close to the branch of Pendragon & Co. based in central England, and often preferred to spend his time there in an effort to escape Wales. It wasn't that he didn't love his own country, but there was a stigma attached to his 'untoward' behaviour more pronounced in the borders of Wales than in England. Marginally, but even a marginal difference was enough.

London's streets were jam-packed. It wasn't so much that they'd just hit the afternoon rush, Arthur knew, but that such was simply how the city was. He found the crowding equal parts comforting for its familiarity and vexing, as always. There were few things quite so frustrating as being stuck in heavy traffic, especially when on a tight schedule.

"Do we know where we're meeting him?" Gwaine asked during a particularly extensive pause in bumper-to-bumper traffic. He seemed to speak more to fill the silence than for any real curiosity for an answer.

Merlin hummed, distracted briefly by the pointless shuffling forwards of cars. He, somehow, didn't seem annoyed in the slightest by the slowness of their pace. Arthur honestly had to wonder that he could even get annoyed for more than a second at a time at all. "Apparently there's this little café that he always goes to near South Bank uni."

"What's it called?" Will asked, just as Gwaine said, "What's he doing scouting out cafes around some foreign uni? That's disloyalty to your university of origin, that is."

Will huffed an expected, "Shut up, Gwaine." Arthur wondered if such a phrase was instinctive to him; he seemed incapable of holding his tongue whenever Gwaine said anything even vaguely jokingly.

"It's called _The Little Dancer_ or something," Merlin replied, as usual ignoring Will's criticism of Gwaine. "And he was seeing that supervisor guy in communications about maybe doing an MA. In Development Journalism I think that was it?"

"How do you even know that?" Will asked as Gwaine muttered a jokingly heartfelt "Disloyalty!" "I haven't seen Lance in ages."

"Did you maybe think of calling him once in a while?" Gwaine prompted.

Arthur's glance behind him to see Will raise an eyebrow at Gwaine. "I do. Sometimes. Do you?"

"'Course I do."

"So I'm sure you knew all about him thinking of doing his masters, then?"

"I did."

"Bullshit."

"He only started thinking about doing it something like a week ago," Merlin said by way of placation. He didn't bother glancing towards his friends. "Can't exactly blame anyone for not knowing."

"Except you do," Will said.

"Yeah, but everyone knows Lance likes Merlin the best," Gwaine reasoned.

"Lance doesn't play favourites. Ever."

"Yeah, but if he did..."

Arthur ignored them in favour of staring out the window once more. South Bank University… he couldn't say he'd had a lot to do with it but he knew its general location. If they'd passed through Westminster not long before then they couldn't be far off.

Sure enough, barely half an hour later – and after a struggle for finding a parking spot which was next to impossible at that time of the day – they were starting towards the university. Merlin gave Arthur another squirt with the spray bottle that Arthur barely even flinched at – he was getting far too accustomed to such humiliations – before dampening his own hands and picking him up. They started in the general direction of the university at a rapid step.

"Fuck it's hot," Will muttered, more to himself than anything.

"That's very perceptive of you, Will," Merlin said, with a smile. "You'd almost think it was on the tail end of summer."

"Yeah, but note the 'tail end'," Will said, glancing back down at his phone as he slapped it in his palm. He'd keyed in the café of interest and was currently supposedly directing them because apparently he was the one who could riddle through the unknown the best out of the three of them. Arthur had asked Merlin somewhat dubiously if he could be trusted with such, for he hardly thought Will or Gwaine capable of anything bordering on maturity, but Merlin had only shrugged and said that Will was something of a traveller and could find his way around just about anywhere. Not like Gwaine who, Merlin said with a grin, could lose himself in his own house. He certainly had enough times in Merlin's.

"Yeah, well, I checked the Met Office online and it said the heat wave's pretty much going to last until September or something," Gwaine said.

"Seriously?" Merlin asked, shifting Arthur in his hands. He'd taken to cupping a hand over Arthur's head as though to shade him from the afternoon sun. Arthur wasn't complaining, even if it did feel a little like pampering that he did so. He'd found his skin dried far too easily in the open air.

"Gwaine, how many times do I have to tell you the Met guys are about as accurate as a lottery system," Will sighed long-sufferingly.

Gwaine frowned. "Hey, that's not true. They get it right sometimes."

 _"Some_ times, yeah" Will emphasised. "And sometimes I can predict it just fine too."

Arthur tuned out Gwaine's reply. Almost unconsciously at that, just as he noticed that Merlin seemed to do the same. He'd noticed him doing as much often over the past weeks and had if not quite admired it at least appreciated its usefulness. Now, when he found himself doing the same, Arthur could recognise the detachment for what it was: it was either listen and go insane for Gwaine and Will's endless nattering or turn a deaf ear to them. It was likely the only way Merlin managed to retain his sanity at all.

 _The Little Dancer_ came into view at about the same time the tall, ruddy walls of the university did. It was quite literally located on campus, Arthur realised, more inside the alternatively glass and redbrick walls than out. As they approached, Gwaine – because of course it would be Gwaine – raised a hand and waved enthusiastically at the thin throng of what could only be students for their get-up and idling behaviour around the café front. "Hey, Lance! Oi, over here!"

At his call, several people glanced up, but only one started towards them, lowering his phone that he'd been thumbing through and slipping it into his pocket. He was a tall young man, younger than Arthur, of what looked to be South American descent. Brazilian, maybe, or perhaps Venezuelan. He wouldn't have stood out from any of the rest of the students that pottered around the café front, with overlong hair pulled back at the nape of his neck beneath a fedora, the beginnings of a dark beard upon his chin and casual t-shirt over thin jeans. A small, almost reserved smile settled upon his lips as he approached them, raising his hand in a more subdued mimic of Gwaine's.

Gwaine was the one who crossed the rest of the distance towards him, throwing an arm around his neck and clapping him on the back in a crushing embrace. Even from a distance Arthur could hear the breath gush from Lance's lungs, huffing as Gwaine, just a bit bigger and apparently stronger, attempted to squeeze the life out of him. "Hello, Gwaine," he said, barely audibly and just a little choked. "It's been a while."

"Yeah, 'cause you've buggered off to London and abandoned us," Gwaine said, taking a step back from him.

"Gwaine, are we going to have this conversation every time we see one another again?" Lance said, his small smile widening just slightly. He didn't sound as though the notion concerned him particularly.

Gwaine shrugged. "Until you admit your abandonment, yes. Definitely."

Lance only shook his head, reaching out towards where Will was offering him a hand in greeting. It might have seemed a formal gesture, a handshake as opposed to the fast and squeezing embrace Gwaine had initiated, but to Arthur's eyes it didn't seem as such. From Lance's quiet tone, his almost reserved expression, Arthur suspected him to be of the more subdued kind. Calm, even. Basically Gwaine's polar opposite. "Hi, Will. How've you been?"

Will shrugged. "Same old, same old. Just working down at the Jodie's pub."

"Got your next trip booked yet?" Lance asked.

"Only always."

Lance smiled before glancing briefly towards Merlin. Arthur thought it strange that they shared nothing more than a nod, a smile, when from what little he'd heard it seemed as though Merlin was the one Lance was closest to. He turned back to Will a moment later. "Maybe try going somewhere warmer over the winter, hm?" He suggested to Will.

Will shook his head, an expression of distaste touching his features. "After the hell we've been through this summer? Who do you take me for, Merlin?"

"Hey," Merlin objected, but Arthur could hear the smile in his voice. Of course he could. Merlin was practically always smiling.

Lance chuckled. That too was subdued but seemed genuine enough. He glanced back towards Merlin, though, effectively ending his conversation with Will. "What was it that you wanted to see me about? I couldn't really understand what you meant over the phone but I'm assuming it's something significant since you've come all the way here."

"Driven, mind," Will pointed out. "We drove."

"Oh, good on you, Willy, you realised that was a car we were sitting in," Gwaine teased.

"Shut the fuck up, Gwaine," Will replied. Arthur thought it interesting that Lance practically ignored their exchange as well. Clearly it was something of a trend amongst their friendship group,

Lance gestured over his shoulder towards the café. "Want a coffee or something?" He asked. "It's pretty cheap – caters to a uni student's budget and everything – but it's actually pretty good."

Arthur could feel Merlin shrug more than he could see him. The hand he still had cupped over his head sort of masked any sight of him but for the glimpse Arthur could glean through his fingers. "Depends. Will they object if I bring a frog in?"

Lance blinked rapidly in surprise at Merlin's question, then once more with a rising of his eyebrows as Merlin lifted his top hand more fully to reveal Arthur seated on his palm. "Um…" He began, raising a hand to curl around his ear in a motion reminiscent of scratching one's head in confusion. "I'm assuming you're going to explain that?"

"It's kind of what we're here for," Gwaine said.

Lance nodded slowly. "O…kay. Then I'll guess we'll find out." Then he turned and led them back towards the café.

Arthur glanced up at Merlin as he, Gwaine and Will started after him. He thought he'd kept his dubiousness to a minimum but Merlin clearly saw through him. "Don't worry about it so much. If anyone can help it'll be Lance."

"Yeah, he's something of a wonder man," Will said.

Arthur didn't reply. For the first time in a long time, ever since leaving Cardiff, he didn't feel much of an urge to speak. He was out of his depth and he knew it. Worse than that, there was nothing that Arthur himself could do to fix the situation. He'd never been in a situation like that before. It was… it was disconcerting.

Instead, he held his tongue and hoped for the best. If nothing else he could pray to whatever God listened to frogs that Merlin's confidence wasn't misplaced. Even if it did seem like something of a leap that a common journalist might be able to get him in contact with the princess of England.

* * *

Arthur tried not to consider how fucked he likely was. It was certainly a challenge.

"You really think he'll manage to get her to come?"

Merlin pursed his lips, frowning slightly as he stepped to the side of the pavement to allow an elderly woman to slip without descending into the gutter past him. "If he said he could than he will."

Arthur couldn't help but shake his head. Or at least try to shake his head. Even after weeks of being practically incapable of doing so with his stunted neck, the urge to respond with human gestures overcame him at times. "This is insane. How would he even -?"

"You could try having a little faith in him," Merlin chided, uncovering his hands from where they shaded Arthur enough that Arthur was provided a glimpse of his entire surroundings once more. The day was warm. Very warm. Arthur wouldn't admit it but he was sort of grateful that Merlin had remembered to bring the spray bottle with him. Even if it did look ridiculous hanging from the back of his jeans like that.

They'd been in London for a whole day. Staying at a cheap, local motel overnight, it was only Merlin and Arthur who had left that morning to meet Lance and, hopefully, Guinevere the Duchess of Birmingham. They had been all Lance would allow, insisting in what Arthur had come to recognise as being his quiet yet unshakeable way.

Really, Arthur had been surprised that Lance had agreed at all. At first, closeted in the back of the café _The Little Dancer_ , dim and unobtrusive as they were and blessedly relieved of having to leave because amphibians weren't allowed over the threshold, Arthur had been sure he wouldn't believe them. Apparently, just as Gwaine and Will understood, Lance was in the loop about Merlin's magic, a magic that Arthur was rapidly coming to the understanding was certainly deemed as much, no matter how Merlin might insist otherwise. Because it _was_ magic, of a different kind but just as much as Nimueh's ability to transform a human into an animal was, or Gaius' supposed healing abilities that the more Arthur thought about it the more he thought he could believe too.

Lance listened silently as Merlin explained. He didn't say a word, which was such a vastly different manner to Gwaine and Will's that it was like a refreshing blast of cold air. Except that such silence seemed to bode no good for Arthur. Lance didn't express any overt disbelief at first but the blankness of his expression as he sipped distractedly at his coffee was very telling.

When he spoke, however, it wasn't as Arthur had anticipated. "You're serious about this?" His words were almost too quiet to be heard.

Merlin nodded shortly, and for once both Will and Gwaine held their tongues. "Yeah, pretty much a hundred per cent sure it's true."

 _Pretty much?_ Arthur could help but grumble to himself, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

Lance stared down at where Arthur squatted in Merlin's hands. His re-dampened hands, because Merlin was nothing if not remarkably practical and accommodating when it came to ensuring he didn't dehydrate. Lance stared for a long moment before shaking his head. "Impossible," he murmured.

"Tell me about it," Merlin agreed.

"But not entirely unbelievable," Gwaine said.

"What?" Merlin asked, but Lance was nodding now.

"Yes," he said. "Not entirely unbelievable."

Merlin glanced between both of his friends, then to Will who was similarly nodding. He frowned slightly in confusion. "How so?"

"Mate, you talk animals," Gwaine said with a smile that was a little obliging. "It takes a bit to get over how bloody impossible that is but when you do –"

"Everything else seems sort of less impossible," Will finished, for once appearing to agree with Gwaine.

"Yeah, but that's different," Merlin began.

"Maybe," Lance said. "But it still doesn't make it any less plausible."

"Oh, so a human transforming into a frog is plausible now?"

"Do you believe it?" Lance asked, brow creasing slightly.

"I do _now_ ," Merlin said, sparing a glance down at Arthur. Arthur hadn't realised how concerned he'd been about Merlin disbelief until that moment. It seemed suddenly easier to breathe now that his 'Emrys' believed him enough to help him. "But that's because…"

He trailed off and all of his friends stared at him expectantly. When Merlin didn't continue, Lance took up the baton of speech once more. "I'm not saying that it's exactly something I anticipated ever being possible, Merlin," he said. "But if you believe it then I guess that's a good enough reason for me to too."

Arthur was rendered speechless at that, something that he'd rarely had difficulty with before he'd been turned into a frog. He wasn't sure if it was the transformation himself that was making his situation that much more surprising or Merlin and his friends, but for some reason it all seemed just so… astounding.

Arthur had never met people like Merlin before, like Lance who had such apparent and heartfelt faith in his friend, like Gwaine and Will who just up and dropped everything to follow Merlin on what was admittedly a wild goose chase. It was remarkable, was something that Arthur had never seen before. Or perhaps he had seen it and simply hadn't paid enough attention to it to notice as much. He knew that he'd never been one particularly partial to getting close to people – to anyone – in his entire life. Morgana was something of an exception, Leon and Percival too by circumstance more than anything, but everyone else? No, not really.

The past weeks had been the most time that Arthur had spent in direct proximity with anyone else. _Ever_. And though he found Merlin frustrating in his initial obliviousness, Gwaine far too loud and Will a grouchy sod who seemed to walk beneath a perpetual cloud of disgruntlement, he'd learned about them whether he'd wanted to or not. What he'd seen, what he'd learned and come to understand, was startling as much as anything. Enlightening. Disconcerting, even.

Were all people like that or were Merlin and his friends the exception?

In fact, the only thing that had really caused Lance any distress was when Merlin had asked about the princess. Politely, if such a request for assistance in the matter at hand could be said to be polite, but Lance still lowered his cup of coffee to the table in the same moment he dropped his head into his hand. "Merlin," was all he said in he midst of a sigh. Then he was silent.

From Merlin's expression when Arthur glanced up at him, however, from the wince as though he'd been physically pained by having to ask Lance for his help – or perhaps just in that matter specifically – that single word meant more to Merlin than it did to Arthur. Merlin scratched at the side of his nose awkwardly. "I'm sorry," he all but mumbled. "I wouldn't ask if I had any other ideas."

Lance didn't reply for a long moment. When he finally did it was to nod resignedly into his hand, still not lifting his face. "I know you wouldn't," he said with another sigh.

"If you've got any other princesses to suggest that could help I'd be open to that," Merlin said, as though he truly expected Lance to offer an alternative.

Lance raised his head at that, turning dark eyes towards Merlin. "Another princess?"

"One you know on a first name basis, mind," Gwaine put in. Arthur saw his lips quiver slightly as though on the verge of smiling. "I can't imagine telling a complete stranger to kiss a frog would go down well."

Lance's face seemed to crumble at that and Merlin winced once more. "Oh God," Lance muttered. "You really actually want me to ask her to kiss a frog."

"If it's any consolation, it apparently really is Prince Arthur," Will said.

"Surprisingly, that isn't very consoling at all," Lance said. He sounded far older than he looked, Arthur thought, world-weary and long-suffering of the antics of his friends. Or perhaps he really was older than them by a bit. He'd apparently already been a freelance journalist for some time, after all.

Gwaine really did smile at that. "Are you jealous of a frog kissing your girl?"

"It wouldn't really be a frog," Arthur couldn't help but say, though none but Merlin and Lance spared him more than a glance.

"Technically it's not Arthur kissing her," Merlin said. "It would be the other way around."

"That doesn't actually make it sound any better," Lance said. "I don't know how anyone could feel comfortable kissing a frog." He seemed to be speaking more to himself than to anyone in particular.

Silence fell upon the table for a long moment in which even Gwaine seemed to have respectfully muted himself before Lance continued with a heavy tone. "It's probably going to be impossible –"

"That's not the positivity we're looking for," Gwaine said.

"- but I'll ask her," Lance continued, sparing Gwaine only half a glance before turning towards Merlin. "I could at least ask her to meet you, I suppose."

"Yeah, I bet you could," Gwaine said with a suggestive smile. He nudged Will's side and though Will rolled his eyes he actually nodded in agreement.

"We all know she likes you, Lance," Will said. "Us more than you do, apparently."

"She only likes me on an entirely professional level," Lance said.

Gwaine shook his head firmly. "Professional my arse. Exclusive interviews and the likes? Actually talking to her _outside_ of those interviews?"

"You know, Gwaine, it's not really any of your business," Lance said, though in a mild enough manner that it didn't actually sound irate. Clearly Gwaine didn't think so either, for he only beamed at Lance like a proud parent.

Lance turned back towards Merlin after sparing Arthur another brief glance. He'd spoken to him a few times over the past half an hour, using Merlin as a translator as those who knew about Merlin's gift readily did. It was almost too natural; each of Merlin's friends just seemed to accept his ability to speak to animals and believe him when he professed their intelligence. It was kind of weird. "I'll try, Merlin. Give me until tomorrow at least and I'll contact you."

Gwaine slapped a resounding hand on the table that invoked an embarrassingly startled croak from Arthur. At least he wasn't the only one; Merlin jumped slightly, nearly dropping him into his lap. "Yes! Actually getting the chance to meet the Duchess of Birmingham? Right after Baenwyn Castle? _Fuck yes_ , this is my day. _"_

"I'm not so sure that would be such a good idea," Lance said, and he straightened in his seat in a way that immediately gave of an unyielding impression. "In this situation at least, I might just try with Merlin."

Gwaine had kicked up a fuss, of course. He and Will both, for that matter, but Lance had been resistant in that instance at least. For all of his apparent mellowness, all that he seemed lenient towards Gwaine's whiles is he frequently jostled him with an elbow and overrode him in his attempts to explain how it "Wasn't fair" and "Come on, I'm just as reliable and approachable as Merlin", Lance stood fast. Will didn't even bother to argue, though Arthur could see that he was similarly disgruntled.

At the end of the afternoon, however, as they'd parted ways to head back to Merlin's car and seek a motel, it was with Gwaine resigned to his fate and a similarly muttering and cursing Will. Arthur and Merlin had left them in a dramatically sorry state that morning; apparently a night of sleep hadn't helped their outlook.

But somehow, Lance had managed. Apparently, in some impossible way, he was in the princess's good graces enough to ask a favour. Arthur doubted the exact nature of that favour had been exchanged but regardless, he'd managed. And at ten o'clock that morning, he'd sent word to Merlin that he and the princess would be meeting incognito – because of course it would be as such – in a small and reclusive café in Kensington for lunch.

"I'll remain sceptical until I see her," Arthur said as they turned down another street of stately buildings and pedestrian-ridden pavement. "You might have a lot of confidence in your friend but –"

"If anyone's worthy of confidence it would be Lance," Merlin said, interrupting Arthur once more. Arthur tried not to be disgruntled by it, had to remind himself that Merlin _was_ helping him. More than that, he sounded almost defensive of his friend. Maybe that was the motivation behind his interruptions? "He's got a way with people, I guess you'd say."

"A way with people?" Arthur wished he had eyebrows so he could raise them sceptically. "There's a difference between being a people person and getting on the good side of royalty."

"Which I'm sure you'd know all about," Merlin said with a smile. As usual, Arthur couldn't detect a hint of annoyance behind his words.

Arthur turned deliberately away from him. "I would more than most."

"That you would," Merlin agreed. "But don't worry, I've known Lance for years. He might hate me for asking him for it, but he'll try his damndest."

It was a struggle to resist but eventually Arthur caved and glanced back towards Merlin. He couldn't help but be just a little curious. "You've known him for years?"

Merlin nodded, pausing in step once more to allow a clutch of women who barely noticed him in the midst of their conversation to pass. "Yeah, since I was in… primary school? He stayed at my house quite a bit when we were going through high school."

"This seems to be a common theme with your friends."

Merlin grinned, sparing Arthur a glance. "Yeah, well, the estate always does seem too big for just mum and me. We like filling it out a bit. And Lance needed a place to get away to sometimes so…"

Once more, Arthur couldn't help himself. He would never deny that he always wished to know as much as he could about every situation that even vaguely concerned him. "Why?"

Merlin scrunched his nose slightly before replying. He was hesitant when he did, as though uncertain if he should voice as much. "His dad's kind of a dick. Always treated him like shit and everything and his mum couldn't care less. Lance doesn't really talk about it nowadays and hasn't visited them once since he moved out, but he doesn't exactly keep it a secret either."

 _Oh_. Arthur shunted aside the flicker of guilt that rose within him that he'd pushed for an answer. Doing so wasn't exactly unfamiliar; when Arthur had asked, he'd expected an answer, regardless of how intrusive the question or how revealing that answer would be. For some reason it felt just a little harder to nudge aside than usual. "I see. So you were, what, a safe haven for him."

Merlin gave a small laugh as though the thought was amusing. He shrugged. "I guess you could say that, yeah. He's a couple of years older than me, but we became pretty good friends. He stayed with us off and on till he finished school; it was weird when he moved out and went to London. Sort of like a big brother moving away, I suppose."

Arthur stilled the urge to question further. Well, that explained it a little. Lance, as a protective older brother figure, who saw Merlin and his mother as being those who'd all but rescued him from a disaster of a home life… Arthur supposed he could see how he might feel obliged to help Merlin out. Even if he was reluctant, which for some reason Arthur didn't think was anything to do with Merlin himself, helping out a sibling in need was –

No, Arthur wasn't sure he could really understand that. He'd never really done the same for Morgana. They had a decidedly different relationship to that Merlin and Lance obviously shared. Arthur didn't think he'd ever expected anything else of Morgana; she was a hard woman, merciless even, and could never be deemed of the openly affectionate variety, and Arthur really couldn't conceive wanting anything else but…

But.

He'd never had anything like that. Never wanted it either, but… Merlin had gone above and beyond for Arthur, a frog who was a prince he'd never met and clearly didn't think all that much of, and Lance had similarly gone further than most should for his adopted brother. Arthur hadn't wanted that, had never and still didn't want it, but he couldn't help but ponder the relationship as they continued along the street in the direction Merlin's phone urged them.

The café really was tucked away from sight, but from the modest populace Arthur could see within he suspected it was a niche of sorts for those who knew of it and single-handedly kept it afloat. Quaint and refined, of wide, open windows and a cluster of parasol-shaded tables out the front, it was in Arthur's opinion something of a cliché setting in which to find the upper class or, more specifically, royalty out for a leisurely luncheon in quietude. Arthur wondered if Lance had chosen it specifically for that reason.

He could just make out Lance's now fedora-less head amongst the seaters outside, shaded from the abusive sun at a little round table with matching, ornate chairs. He didn't notice their arrival, and rightly so, for his attention appeared entirely focused upon the young woman sitting beside him.

Arthur hadn't seen Guinevere for some time. Not for nearly a year, even, which was perhaps one of the longest durations they'd gone without seeing one another even in passing. He would recognise her, though, even with the wide-brimmed sunhat atop her head, the large glasses obscuring half of her face. It was all in her posture, the animated gesturing of her hands, the familiarity of her soft laugh and similarly soft smile. She was dressed with moderate casualness in a summer dress that at a glance could have been of the rack but Arthur knew most likely cost hundreds if not thousands and fit her to a T. Not that she cared for indulgences all that much; Guinevere was about as unroyal of a royal as could be.

She and Arthur were almost polar opposites. While Guinevere – or Gwen as she insisted just about everyone call her – was kind, compassionate and caring, open to conversation and meetings with any and all well below her station and what should have been her consideration, Arthur simply… wasn't. He didn't much care for those who weren't of significant consequence for him. Unless they were business partners, colleagues, fellow party-goers or family, Arthur didn't have much time for anyone. Why should he? It wasn't like most really cared for him outside of his station as a prince anyway.

But Gwen was different. She always had time for others, always _made_ the time, and that was what seemed to appeal her to her country's people at large. Even more so in many ways than did her older brother Elyan, who, though similarly of the more compassionate strain, was less publicly open in his welcomes and more grounded in duty. In the past, it had been something of a bone of contention between Arthur and Gwen; they'd never gotten on particularly well in that regard, with Gwen dismissing Arthur as 'careless and selfish' in the kindest possible way while Arthur simply didn't have time for her. She was like a cousin; a younger, sedate and all-too exasperatingly altruistic cousin that he'd always seen for her youth and perceived as being juvenile for just that reason.

When he thought about it, Gwen's attitude would likely suit someone like Merlin quite well. It was almost a shame he batted for the other team. But then Lance… well, Lance appeared to be an apple from the same tree so maybe he would suit Gwen's tastes just as well?

It certainly looked like it from what Arthur could see as they approached. Gwen and Lance were thoroughly enamoured with one another, conversing with more animation and enthusiasm than Arthur had seen of Lance yesterday and had ever witnessed from Gwen. She seemed unable to shake the smile from her lips, and Arthur was sure that, had it not been mostly hidden by her glasses, her entire face would have been practically aglow.

Suddenly it wasn't all that surprising that Lance had managed to get her to come out to a meeting.

Neither even noticed Merlin's arrival until he stopped at their table and pulled out the remaining chair. Lance turned towards him and whether it was simply the lack of Gwaine and Will and so he was more open with his affection or a by-product of Gwen's presence, his smile appeared even warmer that day than it had yesterday. "Merlin! Sorry, I didn't notice you."

"Yeah, I can see that," Merlin said, returning his smile. He glanced towards Gwen. "I hope I'm not interrupting in the middle of a pivotal conversation."

Before Lance could reply, Gwen was starting to her feet with an exclamation of delight far more vibrant than Arthur had witnessed from her before. Had he just never noticed or was she deliberately subdued around him? "No, not at all! You're Merlin, then? Lance's brother?"

Merlin flashed a small smile and pointedly raised eyebrow to Lance before turning back towards her with a nod. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Lance does, actually," Gwen said. "All the time." And then, in an abandonment of proper decorum entirely, she skirted the table to reach towards him and offer him an easy embrace.

Arthur could only stare up at Gwen as she leaned obliviously over him. How strange. He could detect a touch of uneasiness from Merlin for the slight tightening of his hands around him, but from Gwen there was nothing but warm welcome. She wasn't standoffish in the slightest.

Arthur spared a glance for Lance who watched with a comfortable smile upon his lips. Yesterday Gwaine had teased him mercilessly about his apparent pining for the princess, for Gwen's affection for him in turn, but Lance had brushed aside each comment with a long-suffering sigh. And Arthur had accepted that. He'd accepted that such was customary for them, that it was nothing but teasing, that there was no real basis behind it and that yes, while Lance might have somehow gotten into Gwen's good graces – though the how was still a mystery to Arthur – it didn't mean anything.

Apparently Arthur was mistaken, however. There was definitely something between the two of them. Maybe they didn't realise it just yet but there was certainly something there.

Gwen drew away and dropped back into her seat, waving Merlin into his own. "It's so nice to meet you. Really, I've wanted to talk to you for ages, ever since Lance first mentioned that he saw you and your mother as practically family."

Merlin shot a faintly bashful glance towards Lance, but Lance only shrugged. "It's true."

"Well gee, thanks, Lance," Merlin said with a grin. "You'll make me all embarrassed now."

Gwen laughed. "Honestly, I think it's lovely. It's very good of you to take him in when he needed the help." She turned an affectionate and just barely sorrowful smile towards Lance, who only seemed to bathe beneath the glow of it.

Arthur blinked as he glanced between Merlin's fingers up at the two of them. Fucking hell, it was so obvious. Not only from their exchanged glances but from the meaning behind Gwen's words themselves. Merlin had sounded almost hesitant to speak of Lance's past, claiming that he didn't care. But Gwen apparently knew too. There had to be something to that, surely.

Gwen turned back to Merlin after a long moment, seeming to shake herself from her thoughts. "But I really have wanted to meet you for a while, Merlin. You and all of Lance's friends. I feel like I drag him to see mine when he can enough. It would only be fair."

"Do you, now?" Merlin said in what sounded to be a deliberately casual tone. Arthur couldn't help but agree with the sentiment behind his words. "How about that?"

Arthur saw Lance roll his eyes but he didn't speak. He didn't drop his smile either, which Arthur thought was somewhat telling. Gwen only nodded, her lips quirked a little in self-reprimand as she glanced his way. "Yeah, I'm terrible, I'm afraid. Always dragging him everywhere when I get the chance. I must take up all of your free time, I swear."

"I don't mind," Lance said with a shrug. "It's not like I've got anything better to do." Suddenly Arthur was quite sure he knew of a reason at least equal to that Lance had provided to keep Gwaine in particular from this particular meeting. Not much time spent together his arse.

"You live up near Aberystwyth too, aren't you, Merlin?" Gwen asked, turning back towards him after a moment. "What brings you down to London?"

Arthur felt Merlin shrug. "Just coming to visit my bosom pal, I guess. It's been a while."

Gwen laughed again. Once more it was of the genuine kind, that which Arthur hadn't heard from her before. This Gwen he saw was of an entirely different kind to that he knew. Arthur suddenly felt at a bit of a loss to realise it; how much had he missed that she hadn't revealed? "That's nice of you. Did you drive?"

"Yeah, we passed through Cardiff."

"We?"

Arthur wasn't sure if Merlin had accidentally made the slip or if he'd done it intentionally. Maybe he had. Maybe that was his plan. Arthur hadn't known how he would go about initiating the situation, revealing Arthur and requesting the fabled kiss that should transform him back into a human. He'd asked, right after he'd suggested that it was certainly not a good idea for Merlin to reveal to Gwen that the frog he was introducing her to was Arthur, but Merlin had only nodded in agreement before shrugging. "Yeah, I thought so too. I've got an idea, but… I don't know. We'll work it out."

Arthur hadn't been particularly comforted by Merlin's words. 'Work it out'? That wasn't reassuring at all. And now, siting in front of Gwen beneath her notice, he felt suddenly nervous. That in itself was a novel experience. Arthur rarely if ever felt nervous about anything, was confident in himself and his abilities enough that he didn't need to. But in this situation, when it was entirely out of his hands – it was different.

But it was very definitely nerves that caused him to shift uncomfortably in place, to struggle to swallow before repressing the urge as it would mean closing his eyes and he didn't want to miss anything. This was it. This was everything, the crux of it all. If Gwen could kiss him, if he could be turned back into a prince, then it would all be over.

It would be over. Thank fuck it would be over.

Unexpectedly, because Arthur had thought – had hoped – that he would do so with more subtlety, Merlin raised his hands to settle them on the table and lifted his top from over Arthur's head to reveal him more fully. Arthur, staring up at Gwen in her larger-than-she-should-be state, saw her jump slightly with a surprised "Oh" before dissolving into laughter once more. "You have a frog as a travel companion?" She asked.

"Merlin's something of an animal person," Lance explained, sparing Merlin a fond glance. He spoke easily, as though he wasn't concerned for the approaching situation in the slightest. "It just happens to be a frog this week."

When Merlin continued, Arthur was surprised at him. Merlin had always seemed only exceptionally guileless, but – "He's not just a frog," he said, an almost conspiratorial note to his voice. "This is a _special_ frog."

Arthur blinked, fighting the urge to spin around and squawk indignantly. Merlin was just going to dive into the issue, just like that? No pause to ease into the conversation, to get to know Gwen first and convince her that he wasn't insane before surreptitiously asking for her help?

But no, apparently he wouldn't. And Gwen wasn't allowing him to back out from what he'd begun, either. "Oh really?" She said, amusement touching her tone. "A special frog? How is that?"

"He's actually a prince that's been turned into a frog."

There was a pause, a surprised pause in which Arthur could only assume that Gwen wore a startled expression behind her glasses. For a long moment he wondered if she'd snap as she never had, would call him a fool, or an idiot, or insane. But of course she didn't. This was Guinevere, Duchess of Birmingham, and she would never utter a condemning word to anyone. Not even to Arthur.

Quite the contrary, Gwen broke into incredulous laughter that once more faded into genuine amusement. She actually clapped her hands once like a child that had encountered something delightful. Arthur saw a slight tension that he hadn't noticed in Lance ease slightly. "Is that so?" Gwen said. "What a shame. The poor prince."

"A poor prince indeed," Merlin said, a touch of sorrow in his tone. Far from being star-struck by Gwen, he pulled off his act remarkably well. "He's got a bit of a problem, you see."

Gwen leaned forwards across the table, spreading her hands around the empty cup of what Arthur assumed must have held tea before they'd arrived. "Let me guess. He's looking for a kiss from a princess, just like in the old stories?"

Arthur was rendered mute. Or at least he would have been had he not already been silent. Gwen was… she was… Merlin had barely said anything, had barely prompted anything, and she was practically offering… Arthur couldn't help it this time; he turned around and met Merlin's brief, downturned gaze with an incredulous stare of his own.

Merlin shrugged regretfully at Gwen's words. "Ideally," he sighed, lips tipping slightly with the beginnings of a smile. "My own kisses don't quite come to the party."

Gwen grinned widely. As Arthur turned fully back towards her, he was sure he could see her eyes shine in merriment even through the darkness of her glasses. She shook her head, but it seemed more in amusement than denial. "Oh, now I can't believe that. What makes royalty, really?"

"Apparently not me," Merlin said.

Gwen chuckled once more. Then she actually leaned forwards towards Arthur expectantly, though her gaze was still upturned towards Merlin. "And just how many frogs have you encountered that happen to be hidden princes, Merlin?" She asked.

Merlin offered a small laugh of his own. "You'd be surprised," he said. Arthur wondered if Gwen could hear the truth behind his words too.

He didn't have much of a moment to think about it, however. Not more than a second, because quite without precedent, unexpectedly and entirely out of the bounds of what Arthur himself would have done had some stranger approached him and asked him to do the same, Gwen kissed him. Only briefly, and with an amused quiver of her lips that felt entirely strange upon the top of Arthur's head, but it was a kiss all the same. She even made an exaggerated "Mwah" sound, as though to prove she'd done it before pulling away.

Arthur was frozen. He hadn't even considered what to do when it happened. He hadn't thought that far ahead to _after_ becoming human. Would he change in the middle of the restaurant? Would he explode into a human in the middle of the café table, limbs flying and making an utter fool of himself? What would Gwen think? What would the entirety of London think? Arthur made a point of not caring about others opinions, but such a sight surely wouldn't be favourable in any form. Not to mention he didn't have any clothes on which was a different kind of horrifying entirely?

Arthur was frozen as he waited for that explosion. As Gwen drew back in her seat and tipped her chin down towards him as though expecting the transformation, though the amusement touching her lips spoke otherwise of her beliefs. He could feel the tightness of Merlin's hand beneath him, tensed as though similarly expectant, and Arthur had the brief passing thought of "Crap, I'll probably break his hand when I change" before…

Nothing.

There was nothing.

No sudden change, no wracking pains of hot and cold, of stretching and squeezing and his bones bending and breaking as they refit into a different body. Arthur waited, straining and almost longing for the pain that he'd experienced under Nimueh's hand almost two months ago but…

Nothing.

After a long pause, Gwen uttered a light-hearted chuckle. "Well, that's a shame. Sorry, Merlin, maybe I'm just not princess enough for this frog prince?"

"No, no, that's alright," Merlin said hastily. Arthur wondered if anyone else heard the slight catch in his otherwise joking tone. "It wouldn't be the first disappointment I've had."

"I'm sure there'll be other frogs," Lance said, and though he smiled, when Arthur turned towards him he was sure that smile was a little less vibrant than it had been before. Almost apologetic.

Gwen laughed once more. She really did seem to be in a good humour, which Arthur couldn't help but resent just a little because… because after everything he… "You sound like you're commiserating about a boyfriend or something."

Merlin gave something of a chuckle in reply. It sounded just a little forced to Arthur's increasingly detached ears. "Yeah, well, I can't help but admit I wouldn't say no to a prince as a boyfriend. So long as he wasn't a prat, you know."

Arthur didn't hear much after that. He was aware that they spoke, that Gwen was as animated as she'd been before, that Lance seemed to forget the apologetic mindset that had momentarily gripped him and fall back into a similarly animated conversation. He knew that Merlin spoke as well, answering Gwen's questions about himself and his friendship with Lance, about their hometown and how they'd met, and similarly asked her questions in return that were vague enough that they likely wouldn't trigger any of the security warnings that Gwen had likely had instilled in her since she was a child, just as Arthur had. He was surprised that she had even taken herself to a café with a civilian and a stranger and wouldn't have been surprised if overly attentive bodyguards had followed her.

Or at least he heard in a distracted manner. The primary thought that was consuming him mind practically overrode all else. And that thought was:

 _Fuck_.

Arthur waited. He waited for the pain, for the change to take hold, for the magic to set in. But it didn't happen. Not a blip through the entire hour sitting at the café and waiting. And slowly, horrifyingly, it dawned upon him that it hadn't worked.

Why? Why hadn't it worked? Arthur didn't understand. He'd done what Nimueh had told him to. He'd found Emrys – Merlin – and had then gone in search of a princess that could kiss him and grant him humanity once more. It _had_ been a kiss, too. Arthur had felt it. It should have worked.

And yet it hadn't. Arthur was still a frog. He was still sitting cupped in Merlin's palm, resting upon the edge of the table and listening to the hollow voices of conversation that continued over his head. He could still feel the rapid drying of his skin, could still taste the flavours on the air with his sensitised tongue, could still feel the odd shapes of his limbs as they stretched in inhuman directions in what really was becoming only more and more familiar to him.

Nothing had changed. And Arthur didn't know what to do about it.

They left Gwen and Lance to continue their conversation with Merlin neatly but very obviously 'leaving them to their privacy'. Arthur noticed that Gwen blushed slightly, that Lance dipped his head as though embarrassed, but he hardly cared. He didn't spare them a glance as Merlin rose to his feet, taking Arthur with him, and left the table.

Neither of them spoke. Not a word was exchanged for several turns, several long streets and the passing of countless pedestrians and cars and buses drawing alongside them. It was Merlin who broke their silence, however. He paused in a slight indentation between buildings and uncovered his hand from where it shaded Arthur.

Arthur turned slowly up towards him. He was removed from reality, stuck in his thoughts, but even with that he could see the regret on Merlin's face. No, it was more than that; the tightening of his brow in soft wrinkles, the downturn of his lips, the open sincerity in his eyes. Arthur hardly knew Merlin, even after weeks he barely knew him, but he could recognise when Merlin was upset. At least now he could.

"Arthur," he said softly, and there was so much apology in his tone that Arthur was actually briefly shaken from his stasis. "Arthur, I'm really sorry. I really did think it would work."

Arthur swallowed with a squeeze of his eyes before blinking them open. He hurt, was so disappointed he could shout in frustration and wreak hatred upon the world. But he didn't. He didn't let that hate out because it suddenly seemed so pointlessly inadequate. Instead, he only shook his head as much as he could and spoke the words that came to him before he even registered them, words that he had perhaps never said in his entire life. "It's not your fault, Merlin. I thought it would work too."

Merlin stared at him for a long moment. He stared, opened his mouth to reply, then closed it once more. Then he shook his own head and, biting his lip, cupped his hand back over Arthur and they continued on their way. Arthur didn't think that it was his imagination that his hands settled a little more tightly upon him. It felt almost like a comforting embrace.

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A/N: Hi everyone! I hope you're enjoying the story so far :D If you have a second, could you please leave a review to let me know your thoughts? It's really so appreciated and does more help that you can imagine. Thank you so much to **mersan123** as always for your lovely reviews (you're so sweet and I'm glad you're liking the story!) and also to **NC** and **Bailieboro** \- thanks you guys. Seriously, thank you.


	6. Chapter 6 - A Resource-Induced Delay

A/N: Thank you everyone who reviewed last chapter! I can't think you enough, I received such lovely and heartwarming words. It means the world, and I'm so happy to hear that people are enjoying it, hearing speculations and acknowledgements of guesses correct. Thank you so, so much!

Enjoy the chapter :D

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 **Chapter 6: A Resource-Induced Delay**

The trip back home was silent. Or at least as good as silent as could come with Gwaine and Will in the car. But even they seemed to read the mood and held their tongue after Will's first grumble over something or other and Gwaine's expected reply. Merlin didn't say a word but apparently he didn't need to. They subsided. That silence was only broken when Gwaine, never one who was comfortable with muteness, sat forward in his seat and clicked the radio on. Maybe it was simply Merlin's mindset but he thought it a little cruel when Uncle Kracker's _'Smile'_ rippled from the speakers.

He felt terrible. For some reason, some unexpected and unanticipated reason, Merlin felt really, really terrible for what had happened. He felt responsible for the entire situation somehow, as though his hopes that Arthur would be transformed back into a human had weighed heavily upon his shoulders and only dragged him down when they were proved fruitless. In the short time since leaving Cardiff, Merlin had committed himself to his promise: that he would get Arthur to the Duchess of Birmingham and after a kiss he would turn human once more. He didn't know the logistics of it, didn't know what would happen after and hardly even had a plan of how to get there in the first place, but that was the general idea.

Apparently Merlin had put more determination behind that mission than he'd realised because when it was rendered incomplete and incomplete-able he felt… He felt like shit. Even with the awe and excitement at meeting the princess, a meeting that would have been spectacular had the circumstances been otherwise, it felt terrible.

Realistically, there was no reason for it. Realistically, Merlin knew that it wasn't his job, that he shouldn't _have_ to help Arthur, and that even if he had been under some sort of obligation that Arthur had hardly been forthcoming enough, hardly generous enough in his request and grateful even slightly, that he shouldn't _want_ to. But he did. And he hadn't managed.

And it felt like shit.

Worse than that was that Merlin didn't know what to do now. Why hadn't it worked? Why hadn't the kiss from a princess, just as Nimueh had told them, worked as it should? Had Gwen been right and she simply wasn't 'royal' enough for it to work? But no, that was ridiculous. Guinevere was at least as royal as Prince Arthur. It _should have worked_. But it hadn't. And now Merlin was stumped.

Did they go and find another princess? Did they go in search of Nimueh once more and demand an explanation? Somehow Merlin suspected that making demands of the woman wouldn't work. Even if they tried, who was to say that Merlin wouldn't be turned into a frog too? Then where the hell would they be? Merlin wasn't ashamed to admit that he though Nimueh just a little intimidating. More than a little, even.

The crux of it was that Merlin didn't know. He didn't know where to go from here, what to do. Merlin knew he wasn't a strategist but he liked to think himself smart. And yet… nothing. He couldn't think up a plausible reason for their failure or an approach to rectifying the situation. He was very effectively stumped and _that_ was the worst part. For the entirety of the trip back to Ceredigion Merlin had been pondering, but he'd come up with nothing.

At his side, designated the seat without question this time, Arthur sat on his nest of damp towels. He didn't glance up from where he stared straight ahead of himself, not even when Merlin wordlessly and intermittently squirted him with a spray bottle. He appeared deep in thought, unmoving as though frozen. Not since he'd told Merlin that it wasn't his fault had he said a word.

It was strange. Stranger even than his subdued behaviour in their trip from Cardiff to London. Arthur had been a chatterbox, a demanding, entitled chatterbox for the entire time that Merlin had known him, but apparently Nimueh's words had hit him hard. Yet even that was nothing on his attitude now. Merlin prided himself on his ability to read animals expressions even when they didn't speak, to understand them through gestures and expressions and the simple aura they emitted even though it was so different to that from a human's. When they'd travelled to London, Merlin had felt concern from Arthur. He'd felt anger and frustration, but lathered over that and tamping it down was the worry. Arthur had been _scared_ , it would seem, even if he hadn't quite realised it for himself, and Merlin could only put it down to Nimueh's words.

Now was different, though. Now he was silent but there wasn't fear as much as… listlessness. Listlessness interwoven with a juxtaposing mess of horror and despair, as though the reality of what had happened – or hadn't happened – was only just settling upon him. It was strange given how headstrong he was, how he had been, that he would appear so defeated, and yet defeated and resigned was very much how he seemed.

Merlin didn't like that. He hadn't particularly liked the demanding Arthur either, though he had thought it was a little funny, but this silent, withdrawn version of him was even worse. It wasn't at all like the person – the _frog_ – he'd grown exasperatingly familiar with over the past weeks. It wasn't like the strong-headed, entitled, selfish and arrogant prince that he'd read and heard sparingly of in the news and sprawled across social media.

Merlin found that he almost would have preferred a little bit of arrogance. He didn't know why, where the drive had come from, but he wanted to help Arthur. He idly pinned it to his inclination towards helping animals, a tendency that everyone had tagged to him and was a primary drive for his pursuit into veterinary studies, but acknowledged too that it was something more than that. Maybe it was sympathy? Merlin certainly wouldn't take kindly to being turned into a frog. Maybe he would have been as angry and defiant as Arthur had been. Angry, defiant, and bordering on panicked.

When they pulled into the driveway of the estate, it was already dark. That hadn't stopped Hunith from standing out in wait for them, however. She stood illuminated beneath the pale light that beamed down upon the wide drive, arms folded and hugging herself, still grimy from a day of work. Merlin had expected as much. He'd sent a message her way telling her they were heading home and that they'd been unsuccessful.

Merlin slowed the car to a stop and simply sat for a moment. He could hear Gwaine and Will fidget awkwardly behind him but didn't spare them a glance. They might not feel quite as passionately about the situation as Arthur, nor as guilty as Merlin, but they both understood it well enough to know that it had all gone to the shits.

Merlin turned towards Arthur, towards where Arthur had still not shifted his gaze from staring blankly ahead of himself. He made to speak, paused, then tried again. Nothing came out, though. Nothing seemed able to come out, so instead Merlin simply held his hand out towards Arthur in an offering.

Arthur didn't respond for a long moment. When he did it was slow, deliberate, and almost reluctant. Merlin could nearly hear the sigh that arose from him, though he made no such sound. Instead, he simply climbed slowly, arduously, onto Merlin's palm.

Climbing from the car, Gwaine and Will behind him, Merlin started towards his mother. She hadn't moved, didn't cross the driveway to meet him, but instead waited for his approach. When Merlin stopped before her, she didn't speak. She barely even spared Merlin himself a glance but instead turned her gaze down towards Arthur, expression shadowed both by sympathy and the darkness of night. "I'm sorry it didn't work out, Arthur."

The words themselves would have seemed inadequate in any other situation, from anyone else, but Hunith had always had a way about her of seeming entirely sincere and heartfelt with the simplest of utterances. Arthur seemed to sag further into Merlin's palm with them, even dropping his head slightly. Merlin fought not to cringe.

Instead, he glanced at his mother, shaking his head. "I don't know why it didn't work. It should have. We did what that Nimueh person said. Princess Guinevere really did kiss him so I don't…" He trailed off, at a loss.

"Maybe it takes a while to kick in?" Will suggested from behind him, just as mutely.

"Mm," Gwaine hummed in agreement. "Maybe tomorrow he'll wake up all fresh and dandy and…" He trailed off, clearly sensing the mood and its lack of receptiveness to his words.

Hunith took a step towards Merlin, towards Arthur. "Arthur. I don't have a solution to the problem. Not yet, anyway. But we'll try. We'll all brainstorm and come up with something, alright?" She glanced briefly up at Merlin before dropping her gaze to his palm once more. "Until we figure something out, you're welcome to stay at the farm for as long as you like."

Arthur didn't even appear to hear her at first. For a long moment he said nothing. Then he slowly tipped his head in a semblance of a nod. "Your welcome is appreciated," he said formally, in such a tone that it rung discordantly in Merlin's ears. Arthur – the frog or the prince – had never sounded so polite before. Not to Merlin's knowledge, anyway.

But he didn't get the chance to ask Arthur about it, to comment upon it even had he felt the urge to. He'd barely even relayed Arthur's words to his mother before Arthur was rising to his feet, turning and jumping from his palm to the ground with a faint slap on dry gravel. He didn't glance behind him, didn't say another word, but simply started off at a rapid hop in what Merlin realised was the vague direction of the greenhouses.

It was rude to so brush them aside. Maybe. Just a little bit. But Merlin found he didn't really care. He'd put up with rudeness from animals before, with ignorant disrespect, and had been on the receiving end of more than enough from Arthur. But all he felt as he watched the little frog spring into the darkness with a hop that somehow seemed disconsolate was sympathy.

"That's got to be a shit," Gwaine murmured from behind him.

"What're you going to do?" Will asked.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder towards him, towards his frown and the thoughtful expression he wore. He could only shake his head as he turned back towards his mother, met her gaze and the similar loss within them.

"I have no idea," was all he said, for he truly didn't know. Really, the situation had been impossible from the start. Now it had just come full circle once more.

* * *

Arthur was brooding.

He was self-aware enough to acknowledge that much, if little else. He was brooding, thinking and largely digging himself into a deeper and deeper rut.

Three days he'd been sitting in the lily pond in the Emerson greenhouse. Three days of sitting in the coolness of the water and doing little else but thinking. He didn't sleep. He didn't eat. He felt neither the need nor the want to. What was the point? It wasn't like it would do anything use anyway.

Arthur was thinking. He'd thought long and hard about _everything_ pertaining to the situation and in short he was furious. He was angry with Nimueh, frustrated with the situation at large and that it hadn't _fixed itself_. He was enraged at the thought that he was still a frog and yes, even a little resentful too. Of Gwen that her supposedly 'magic kiss' hadn't worked. Definitely of Nimueh that she had the fucking hide to change him in the first place. Even a little to Merlin that his idea hadn't worked out.

And yet in spite of it all, in spite of the rage and despair, the frustration and aggravation that wreaked havoc through him, Arthur was still. He was silent. He didn't move from his spot in the pond because… because what was the point? It wasn't like trying would do anything anyway, even if by some chance another princess were found that miraculously had the ability to change him back into a human. Arthur had thought of the possibilities and they were few enough and hardly even real princesses when compared to Gwen.

There was Elena Gawant, of one of the oldest and most respected families in the United Kingdoms, who was practically a princess. Arthur had never met her but he'd heard of her. There was the self-titled 'Lady Vivian', daughter of one of the richest men in Britain who claimed herself a princess in all but blood. He even considered Mithian, Duchess of Nemeth, a respected young woman he'd met once a long, long time ago – and carried a torch for badly until he realised nothing would come of it – but even she wouldn't likely do the trick. None of them bore a shadow of Gwen's royal blood. Arthur didn't carry a hope in hell for any of them, especially given that it was likely Nimueh's deviousness and tampering, her inclination towards pinning Arthur with the impossible because she had _always_ been cruel and content in the validity of her own opinion, that had stunted his attempt with Gwen. It should have worked. By all of Nimueh's instructions, it should have. But it hadn't.

Arthur was furious. He was enraged, accusing, resentful and _angry_. But more than that, he realised that he was scared. Perhaps he had been for the entirety of his transformation, but only when he was confronted with the reality of his situation, surfacing on the flipside of what _should_ have been correction and was instead a moot attempt, did he realise it. Arthur was terrified of remaining as he was. He was absolutely horrified by the thought; of remaining a frog for the rest of his life, however long that should be, of leaving his old life behind him, of having little else to his current life but wiling away the days in a pond and struggling to maintain the dampness of his skin.

It wasn't his life.

It wasn't even a life at all.

Arthur couldn't help but feel guilty for that fact. His mother had told him to live life to its fullest. To seize every opportunity and _live_. But he couldn't. Not now. Not when he was a fucking frog.

And it was terrifying. That terror managed to dampen Arthur's anger into silence, into muteness, into immobility and listlessness. He simply sat in the lily pond and brooded.

It was only a detached part of him that noticed when the sun rose and fell, that recorded those times as being the passing of a day. With his chin tucked into the water, Arthur registered when others entered the greenhouse, when they filched around in the tool shed, or amongst the plants, or set the sprinklers off, though he didn't raise himself from his watery bed to see who came in. It wasn't like it even mattered. He didn't bother, not even when he heard a voice, hollowed and muffled through the water lapping at his flaps of skin that were all he had for ears. Arthur ignored them. He had things to think about, inevitabilities and redundancy to contemplate.

Arthur was supposed to live. To chase every chance and opportunity. He was smart, had been smart, and despite his father's exasperation with him for his untoward actions he had recognised as much in making him VP of Pendragon & Co. He was well-liked by those he chose to be around, despite the fact that he hardy knew most of those he spent time with, barely knew the names of the men and women who tagged along with him to clubs and tripped over themselves in drunken staggers as they departed again hours later.

Arthur had had the life. True, it wasn't always perfect, and sometimes, when he stood at the bar waiting for the next drink, or when he sat silent and bored through another meeting listening to the pointless proclamations of another businessman, or when he dabbed the crusty remains of vomit from his shoes from the night before, it didn't seem worth it. Increasingly sometimes, when he thought about it. And sometimes Arthur had to wonder that he still continued as such, even as he would dress himself for another night out, or scrub himself up to the nines for another interview as His Royal Majesty Prince Arthur.

But he always did it. He would always do everything: take every opportunity and every chance. Except that now was different. What the hell could he do as a frog?

On the fourth day, as the sun crept through the glass roof of the greenhouse and bathed the lily pond in a wan, greenish light, was Arthur forcibly drawn from his listlessness. The sound of someone entering the wide, plant-cluttered room – what they were doing up at such an hour Arthur still couldn't fathom, though the realisation that Merlin and Hunith did as much on a regular basis had become apparent to him weeks ago – barely drew Arthur from his thoughts. Not until a shadow fell over the pond and hung suspended above him, blotting out what little morning sun refracted through the water.

They didn't say anything for a long time. Arthur didn't acknowledge who it was, barely registered it was anyone but to notice the blocked out the sun. But they didn't move. For minutes, then longer minutes, stretching onwards until Arthur couldn't help but look up and notice. He didn't care, not really, but it was annoying to have someone intrude upon his silence.

It was Merlin. That much he could make out through the watery, rippling surface of the pond he'd fully submerged himself in. Merlin leaning above and over him, larger than life, larger than he should be because Arthur was so small. It vexed Arthur suddenly that he was so much smaller, that he didn't have a perspective on such inconsequential things as how tall Merlin really was, of how tall he was in comparison to Arthur. To how Arthur had been. Such a little thing but it only knocked Arthur down further on his metaphorical ladder. He wasn't even bothering to keep struggling to climb it anymore.

Merlin had his hands propped on the artificial edge of the pond. Really, it was almost more of a birdbath than a pond anyway, elevated from the ground, bowl shaped and adorned with elaborately carved patterns around the edge. His long fingers were curled around the rim, just dipping into the water so pale fingertips were visible without the skewing of the rest of him beneath the surface. Arthur watched them for a long moment until Merlin spoke.

"I've brought you something to eat. You really should try something." A pause, then, "I figured even though you're derogatory of Veggs your conscience would be less objectionable than with snails or crickets."

His voice was muffled and hollowed by the barrier of water, but at such proximity Arthur could understand the words well enough. He suppressed the urge to sigh – because frogs didn't sigh all that well, as it turned out – and similarly the urge to grumble a scathing reply. Because just as Merlin said those words it was as though they triggered Arthur's subconsciousness into action. He swore he could hear his stomach rumble.

Arthur didn't want to withdraw from his brooding. He had much too much to think about, to ponder the uselessness and impossibility of. He didn't want to eat the fucking vegan eggs even though it was true that they didn't really taste that bad at all. They were actually one of the most palatable things Arthur's frog-tongue had been exposed to, and didn't instantly urge his stomach to rebel.

Reluctantly, moving in a lazy lethargy that he hadn't even realised had gripped his limbs, Arthur drew himself to the surface of the pond. Breaking the surface, he felt the strange trembles across his skin as the air struck it. Merlin had told him weeks ago that cutaneous respiration was one of the methods frogs used for breathing, and Arthur could only accept his words as fact. They appeared to make enough sense from what he could feel.

Merlin hadn't moved from is standpoint above the lily pond, peering down over Arthur with a mild expression upon his face. Deceptively mild? Arthur wasn't sure. He couldn't read Merlin particularly well, he had come to realise, though at first he had assumed him only too readable. Merlin appeared to be thinking a lot more beneath the surface than his affable idiot act suggested went on up top.

They stared at one another for a long moment before Merlin gestured over his shoulder to where a still-steaming plate of Veggs and toast sat. The sight of the toast made Arthur's stomach simultaneously rumble in longing and roil; unlike the Veggs, toast didn't appear to agree with his digestive system.

"You hungry?" Merlin asked.

Arthur drew his gaze back to Merlin. Hungry? Of all the things that he could be feeling at that moment, hunger wasn't primary amongst them. Anger, frustration, _fear_ – they were far more paramount. But he didn't say that. Arthur found that he suddenly couldn't. The urge to get angry, to vent his frustration and spit and curse at Merlin… it wasn't there. And it was all because Merlin was looking at him like that.

It wasn't pitying. It wasn't really all that sympathetic, even, which Arthur was surprised at. He looked resigned, and though Arthur had never much been one to care about anyone enough to notice such things, he seemed tired. As though he'd slept about as much as Arthur had over the past days. His face was pale – paler than usual, for living on a farm and working outside most of the day gave him a vaguely healthy colouring – and Arthur could actually see the darkness of smudges beneath his eyes, the thinning of his lips as he pressed them together as though concerned. What was that all about?

Whatever it was, it stifled any urge Arthur might have to curse at him, to rant and lay blame that, logically, he knew shouldn't fall upon him. Arthur was practical in that regard at least; he might not be a particularly upstanding individual in the eyes of many, might live for himself primarily, but he wasn't deluded enough to blame others for what wasn't their fault.

Most of the time, anyway. And recalling his resentment towards Merlin that had gradually died over the past days, Arthur couldn't help but feel a modicum of guilt for it. It wasn't… it hadn't been Gwen's fault that the kiss hadn't worked and it certainly hadn't been Merlin's.

Climbing onto the edge of the pond, Arthur uttered a small, unconscious little croak. "You look terrible."

Merlin stared at him for a long moment before he slowly cracked a smile. It was so small that it was barely visible. "Thank you. I always appreciate honesty."

Arthur snorted. Then he had to bite back on the frustration that it came out sounding like nothing if not the same croak he'd accidentally made seconds before. He struggled to ignore that. "Well, I'm nothing if not an honest man."

"You are," Merlin agreed. "Brutally honest, sometimes."

"Your stupid Veggs are disgusting."

"Probably to you," Merlin agreed once more.

"And your lily pond needs cleaning."

"Undoubtedly. I haven't done it in a while."

"And it gets ridiculously hot in these greenhouses during the day. You should air them out more often."

Merlin's smile stretched a little wider, the hint of a dimple arising. "Yeah, you're probably right." He didn't sound put out by any of Arthur's words. Quite the contrary, in fact. Instead, he held out a hand towards Arthur in offering.

Arthur had never particularly liked being picked up. He didn't like how it made him feel diminutive, reminded him that he _was_ small enough to lift in the palm of a grown man's hand with no perceivable effort. But he'd come to accept it because it was convenient, and when Merlin offered he stepped resignedly across his fingers. Merlin didn't comment, turning and placing him on the table alongside the breakfast he'd delivered. In a struggle with nonchalance, because for some reason Arthur didn't want to show just how rattled he'd become after what had happened in London, not even to Merlin who would most likely already know, he took himself towards the plate and began eating. He'd long since gotten over the humiliation of eating like an animal. It was actually less embarrassing to do so than to struggle to pick up the food with uncoordinated fingers.

Merlin wasn't watching anyway. Arthur wasn't sure if he was affording him privacy or if he really had seen chores to be done. Arthur had barely started on the breakfast – and yes, Veggs weren't exactly an expensive cuisine and especially not for a frog but _fuck_ did they taste good after three days without – before Merlin had turned and taken himself across the room. He began picking at what Arthur could only assume were weeds, tossing them to the ground, then moved on to tugging at dead leaves from some plant that looked like a sapling of a tree of some sort. Then he disappeared briefly into the tool shed to retrieve a bag and broom, cleaning up the mess of weeds and dirt he'd made. Then he disappeared once more t return with a scrubbing brush and –

"You know, I didn't expressly mean you had to clean the pond now," Arthur said, more to reference Merlin's behaviour than because he really cared. The pond wasn't all that dirty, and he found that the thin film of algae on the very bottom of the bowl was actually quite comfortable on his feet.

Merlin shrugged, not turning towards him as he squatted on his haunches beside the pond. "I may as well. I've got nothing better to do."

"You've got nothing better to do on this who massive farm estate that clean out a pond whose only inhabitant is a frog?"

Merlin did glance towards him at that. A long glance, unwavering and unreadable. "Yeah, well, maybe I just want to make it a little bit nicer for that frog, then."

Arthur opened his mouth to reply but found he couldn't. Suddenly he didn't much feel the desire to eat anymore either and shuffled backwards from the edge of the plate that to him was the size of a small pool. He watched as Merlin turned back to the pond and began to scrub with vigorous determination, as though he had a vendetta against whatever mess filled the pond. Arthur had noticed that about Merlin; he was always motivated in his work, always tried his hardest and did the best that he could. He'd done just the same when he'd set his mind to helping Arthur, when they'd made the day trip down to London and effectively managed the impossible in meeting Gwen.

Where he got the energy from Arthur had no idea. True, Arthur himself was a bit of a gym junkie, took himself when the urge struck him, which had actually become increasingly often of late. Arthur knew he was a pleasure seeker, sought that which _he_ enjoyed doing, and that more often than not included parties, or going out drinking, or lazing through an afternoon of idle window shopping where he spent more than what most people earned in a week. A month, even. But of late, the silence and quietness that he found in his head when he lost himself in a heavy run on the treadmill, or when he pushed himself with his weights, was… it was a different kind of pleasure that Arthur hadn't anticipated discovering. He enjoyed that kind of exertion.

Merlin didn't appear to be interested in that sort of thing. He didn't seem to really care all that much for what Arthur deemed 'enjoyable activities' at all. In the weeks that Arthur had been at the Emerson estate, he'd seen him spend time with his friends and on the odd occasion share drinks, but it was never to take themselves to a club, or to get so drunk that they couldn't walk straight and lost their dinner in a violent mess upon the floor. And yet they enjoyed themselves. They really, truly seemed to enjoy themselves.

Arthur had never expected it but he was almost… curious about that.

"You know, I'll admit it's kind of been weird that I'm not being followed around but a hopping chatterbox all day anymore."

Arthur blinked from his thoughts, only to frown towards Merlin. "Are you calling me a chatterbox?"

"Would you call yourself anything other?" Merlin replied without turning towards him.

Arthur opened his mouth to reply before closing it. To reply would be as good as an admission of guilt. Besides, realistically, whether he wanted to admit it or not, Arthur knew Merlin's words to be the truth. Arthur spoke when he wanted to whether it suited anyone else or not. His demands of Merlin in the past few weeks had been necessary. Redundant at the end of the day, but necessary nonetheless.

"Not that I really mind," Merlin continued. "I say it's been weird but I actually kind of miss it. Besides, if it's not you speaking than it's the horses, or the dogs, and don't tell them I said this but their conversation isn't nearly as intelligent. Not even Mordred's."

Arthur couldn't help but croak a snort at that. "Should I be insulted or flattered that you consider me more intelligent than a horse or a dog?"

"Giving them their due, they're all pretty smart horses and dogs," Merlin said, flashing a smile towards Arthur over his shoulder. "I credit myself for that."

"And why would you take such credit?"

"Because they get smarter the more they talk to me."

Arthur opened his mouth once more to reply but stuttered to a halt once more. From anyone else – certainly from Arthur – such words would have been arrogance, prideful, and likely a little smug. But from Merlin it was different. There was no arrogance, not even a hint of it. It truly sounded as though he was simply relaying a fact rather than spouting of his own accomplishments.

"Why is that?" Arthur said finally. He didn't know why he asked – he'd never really had all that much consideration for Merlin in the past – but for some reason the urge took him.

Merlin paused in his scrubbing to turn towards Arthur more fully this time. He dropped down from his squat to his knees, tipping his head slightly in thought. "I'm not exactly sure, really. Kilgharrah thinks that communicating with a human imparts animals with a bit of human intelligence upon the animals. It's not like they're dumb or anything to begin with –"

"Really?" Arthur couldn't help but ask. He bit back on the uneasiness that arose within him at the mention of Kilgharrah. Thought of that snake still made Arthur faintly nauseous. "They're really not dumb?"

"It's just a different kind of intelligence," Merlin continued, visibly biting back a smile at Arthur's interruption. "For example, I wouldn't know how to follow a heat signature of my prey like Kilgharrah does, or be able to mimic sounds like a blackbird. You know foals are precocial and can basically run as soon as they're born?"

"That's not exactly intelligence," Arthur pointed out. "It's instinctive."

Merlin shrugged. "Instinct is still a kind of intelligence in my opinion."

"It's not."

"It is to me."

Arthur didn't bother replying. Merlin wasn't being aggressively antagonistic, but it was clear he'd stand fast by his opinion nonetheless. Merlin was like that. He wasn't violent or aggressive, didn't make demands or assert his authority. Arthur had noticed that in a detached sort of way that he only just really registered when Merlin spoke to the hired stable hands of the estate. He _didn't_ make demands of them and always added his own helping hands to the workload. And the hands respected him for it.

Arthur hadn't really much consideration for respect. Few people had ever respected his own decisions, his own desires, because they didn't align with their opinion of what a prince should be. But from Merlin… from Merlin it was different. There was camaraderie in those relationships with his fellow workers that Arthur had never experienced. He'd barely even witnessed it before, really, or perhaps simply hadn't noticed.

Merlin was different. He was so different to Arthur in so many ways, and Arthur had seen him as beneath him. As a simpleton, an idiot, and though in many ways Arthur couldn't help but still seem him as such, in others he knew otherwise. Merlin had his own kind of smart. Maybe not by Arthur's definition, but just as Merlin differed in his opinion of the intelligence of animals compared to humans, so too did he apparently differ in his demonstration of such smarts when compared to Arthur.

It was simply… a different kind of intelligence. A different kind of lifestyle. Arthur had never really appreciated that, never considered the validity of such in anyone else before. Not until that moment.

Merlin had turned back to his scrubbing at the point. He'd said something else too, Arthur realised, but Arthur hadn't heard him. Abruptly, he realised that, at least for a moment, he'd been distracted from his thoughts. From the distress of his situation and… and everything else. It had only been brief but somehow he felt better for it.

"You know," Merlin said after a long pause. His voice was distracted, as though he were speaking with but half a thought as he worked. Most likely he was, for he didn't spare Arthur a moment to glance towards him. "I'm really sorry about everything that's happened."

Arthur felt a lump in his throat that suppressed his ability to answer. A flicker of resentment arose within him but it died just as quickly.

"I've been trying to come up with ideas and other solutions, but when I think about it…" Merlin trailed off briefly, still scrubbing with his back to Arthur. "Princess Guinevere was about as 'princess' as I could imagine. I don't know… I know who else could be more appropriate than her."

Arthur could only agree with that sentiment but he didn't reply. Instead, he remained where he was, motionless and silent upon the table alongside the remains of the Veggs and uneaten toast.

Merlin continued a moment later. "I'll still try though. I'll still try and think of a solution. Will thinks I'm an idiot for helping you when I don't have to and yeah, maybe I am, but I will. I'll try and help you, Arthur. I'll try and think of something. But until then?" He paused, turning to glance at Arthur over his shoulder. His face was unreadable once more; not without expression but Arthur simply couldn't read it. He wondered at that. It was vexing in an entirely novel way that he couldn't read it. Arthur had never really wanted to before, but now…

"You should come out," Merlin said. "You don't have to do anything, but just… I don't know, don't sit in here all day and contemplate the meaninglessness of life."

"Even if it is meaningless?" Arthur couldn't help but ask. "I'm a frog, Merlin. I can't do anything. I'm not of any use to anyone _for anything_." _And least of all myself,_ he added silently, and felt a twinge in his chest. A familiar twinge, the one that always arose when he contemplated his mother and her words, considered what he'd committed himself to doing and becoming.

Merlin was quite for another long moment. When he spoke it was in a murmur, quieter than Arthur had ever heard him speak before. "Maybe. Maybe in some ways. But… I kind of enjoy your company if it counts for anything," he smiled once more softly. "Even if you are a giant prat in a little body."

Arthur had nothing to say to that. He was affronted, indignant, but at the same time it was sort of amusing. And… a little heart-warming, even. Where Merlin got off claiming that he enjoyed Arthur's company he didn't know; Arthur knew he'd been nothing but a pain in the arse to him for the past weeks, demanding and talking his ear off with his attempts to convince him of the truth. Merlin had seemed to find it funny, but enjoyable? Surely not.

And yet it was heart-warming. Just a little bit. Arthur couldn't remember the last time someone had genuinely claimed they enjoyed his company. Had anyone ever said it? He wasn't sure, hadn't really cared in the past. Or at least he hadn't thought he'd cared. Arthur lived for himself and other people's opinions didn't matter to him in the slightest, but now… it felt odd, almost unnerving yet strangely not in a bad way, that Merlin had said as much.

 _I kind of enjoy your company…_

It shouldn't have made as big of a difference to Arthur as it did. But in the midst of his melancholy, his anger that had no heat to it despite persisting enduringly, his frustration and desolation, it actually helped. Just a little bit, it helped because… because…

 _If even just for that, if even just to be a pair of ears to talk to, surely that's better than nothing,_ Arthur thought. He'd always been one to take any and every opportunity that presented itself, anything that suited _him_. Anything that made _him_ feel good. Others opinions simply didn't matter to him.

At least they hadn't until that moment.

He didn't speak when Merlin finished up with the pond. He didn't say a word as he put the brush, the broom and the half-filled bag of weeds back in the tool shed and stopped beside the table to pick up the plate that Arthur had finished with. He didn't even speak when Merlin, similarly mutely, turned from the greenhouse towards the door.

But he did hop down from the table and follow alongside him. And though Merlin still didn't comment he did slow down slightly so that Arthur could easily keep up.

Arthur was silently grateful for that.


	7. Chapter 7 - Preparations For Change

**Chapter 7: Preparations for Change**

"You can't convince me that you can actually understand this," Merlin said, jabbing a finger that the textbook spread open on the dining room table.

From his perch alongside it, Arthur tipped his head upwards and Merlin fathomed he could almost see him sniffing indignantly. "Of course I can. I've told you I can still read, _Mer_ lin." As though to prove his point, Arthur shuffled towards the textbook, propping a hand upon the page as though to keep it open. " _Normal ocular microflora are predominantly non-pathogenic gram-positive organisms, although some gram-negative and fungal organisms are also present,_ " he recited from the page, his tone just a little pompous but words clipped and articulate. Merlin suspected it to be a result of his royal upbringing, practically being raised with the knowledge that he would be an orator despite the fact that as an adult Prince Arthur had resisted becoming as much at every turn.

Smirking, Merlin drew his attention from the page and met Arthur's expectant gaze. It wasn't smug so much as derisive, as if to say, " _See? Just because I've got frog's eye's doesn't mean I can't still read"._ "That's very impressive."

Arthur gave a croaking snort. "Lose the condescension, if you would."

"I'm not being condescending –"

"Bullshit."

"I'm not!" Merlin exclaimed before dissolving into laughter as Arthur turned towards him. He propped his elbow on the table, dropping his chin onto his palm and covering his smile with his fingers. "I'm being entirely sincere. I've never met a frog who could read before."

Arthur rolled his eyes. He actually managed to roll them slightly in a very human gesture. "Well, there's a first for everything, I suppose."

"What I was actually referring to was the content itself," Merlin clarified, sitting up slightly in his seat and shifting the textbook to draw it closer to himself once more. "Yeah, you can read it, but I meant I didn't expect you to understand what it meant."

"I can understand it," Arthur said shortly.

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Arthur paused just a second too long. Only a second, but Merlin had come to learn Arthur's little ticks over the past weeks. He knew that pause meant that Arthur was speaking bullshit himself yet wouldn't admit it.

The past weeks had been… interesting, to say the least. Interesting, yet progressive, Merlin would have to admit. When they'd returned from London, Arthur had all but secluded himself in the greenhouse like a sulking child. Very much like a sulking child, Merlin considered, though if anyone had a reason to sulk it would be him. After what had happened with Princess Guinevere, after the ineffectiveness of the kiss and the subsequent lack of transformation back into the prince he truly was, he certainly had reason to be.

Merlin had accepted that Arthur was who he claimed to be. Really, he'd accepted it even before they'd met Nimueh, so Nimueh's words had simply fastened the seal upon his belief. It was too outrageous, too unbelievable, for it _not_ to be true, despite logic suggesting it was otherwise. That realisation more than anything else, that and the fact that Merlin did indeed feel sympathy for Arthur and that such sympathy drove him towards struggling to _fix him_ , was what hurt the most.

Merlin had tried to help. And it hadn't worked.

In the days that Arthur was secreted in the greenhouse, Merlin had brainstormed. He and Hunith both, Will and Gwaine, even Gaius via phone when he'd called Hunith to see what had become of the situation. They'd come up with possibilities, alternatives, but nothing solid. No real plan that they could put in place, nor an explanation for why such had occurred. Or more correctly, why nothing had happened at all.

It was horrible. Merlin had promised to himself, if not openly, that he would work to return Arthur to his original form. He'd _promised_. But he hadn't managed. Instead, Arthur had descended into shuttered despair, had barely spoken a word since they'd returned from London, and for whatever reason, misplaced though Will said it was, Merlin felt responsible. Arthur had come to him, had come all the way from Cardiff in the body of a frog, with an admittedly demanding plea for help. And Merlin hadn't been able to.

He hadn't slept well those first few nights. Merlin couldn't seem to stem the endless turning of his mind, the illogical guilt, the possible solutions that, given what hadn't happened with the princess, were likely useless anyway. It was only three days after their return that Merlin had decided: no, he hadn't been able to help Arthur, but that didn't mean he would leave him in a fit of misery to listlessly while away his time until… what? Until he died as a frog?

Nimueh really was a bitch. What right did she have?

Merlin would have almost marched back down to Cardiff after several days of fruitless pondering, except that Will had intruded upon his thoughts as he'd been letting the horses out of their stable in the early morning. Phone in hand, he'd stopped at Merlin's side and wordlessly turned the screen towards him. Merlin squinted at the minute text and felt a heavy weight settle in his stomach.

"I was going to suggest maybe going to see her again," Will said quietly. His tone was sombre, even more so than usual, without a touch of exasperation to his words. "I don't really give a fuck to be honest – I really don't – but you seem to care. Except…" He trailed off, gaze drifting indicatively down to the phone once more.

There was no need for an explanation. Merlin understood well enough. Nimueh had buggered off. Apparently, according to the news feed that Will had presented to him, she'd 'up and left' after many years of loyal and unwavering service for the crown, long outlasting that which many had speculated after her fast friend, the late queen, had passed away. Gone overseas, apparently, though the article was a little vague as to where.

 _Fucking hell, nothing's ever easy, is it?_

Merlin shook his head, turning away from Will and back to Aisha as she brushed past him with a nicker to ask why he looked so glum. He stroked a hand absently through Aithusa's forelock, the filly naturally glued to her mother's side. Well, that was one option flushed down the loo. Merlin's speculations as to Nimueh's likelihood of actually offering them help had barely surfaced but it had been an idea. And now it was vanquished.

"What are you going to do?" Will asked quietly at his side, fiddling almost awkwardly with his phone. Both he and Gwaine had seemed subdued in the past few days, likely picking up on Merlin's own sobriety. He felt a little guilty for that; whenever Merlin got upset over anything it always seemed to drag everyone else around him down with him. He didn't know why; it just happened.

Taking a deep breath, Merlin shook his head. "I've got no idea," he said, repeating the words he'd spoken days before. "There's really not all that much I can do."

"So…?" Will trailed off indicatively, likely hearing the continuation in Merlin's tone.

"So, I'll just try and work with what we've got." Merlin spared a small smile for his friend. It didn't really feel all that genuine. "I might not be able to turn Arthur back into a human or whatever, but I can maybe stop him from being miserable."

Will offered his own small smile in return, shaking his head though not entirely in denial. "Take it from someone very practiced in being self-pitying: if he wants to be miserable, there's very little anyone can do to drag him out of it."

"You, self-pitying?" Merlin teased half-heartedly.

Will gave an equally half-hearted shove of his shoulder. "Shut up, you tosser."

Merlin had made good his new resolution. That very morning he'd made the trip to the greenhouse with the intention of coaxing Arthur from his melancholy or dragging him if coaxing didn't work. But surprisingly, Arthur hadn't needed much encouragement. Merlin wasn't sure what had triggered it about their discussion, or if Arthur simply needed someone to kick him out of his funk, but he followed Merlin from the greenhouse barely an hour after he'd entered. Will's words, that it took a certain amount of wanting to dwell in misery in order to stay there, rung in Merlin's mind. Perhaps Arthur didn't truly want to be miserable at all. Maybe he was just as lost and at a loose end when considering a possible solution as Merlin was.

For whatever reason, though, despite the melancholic cloud that still hung nearby, Arthur changed after that. It was almost as though he'd decided to try anew, just as Merlin had. And it was strange. It was strange to have Arthur in his company once more, and not so much because Merlin was uncomfortable or unfamiliar with the shadow of a frog following him practically everywhere. It was because Arthur was different.

He was still self-righteous. He was still entitled, and made demands more than he did requests. He still persisted with the reality that he was a human, something that was largely unnecessary now that everyone in the estate – or at least everyone who'd met him – had acknowledged that fact.

But aside from that, Arthur was different. He seemed to be making an active effort towards civility, something that, given the evident struggle Merlin perceived from him, he wasn't particularly practiced in. He would make idle conversation and when removed of its superiority he truly did make a good conversation partner. Prince Arthur was intelligent, logical in his opinions – at least when they didn't directly concern himself – and knowledgeable. More than that, after a few days of following Merlin around, he seemed to spark with a curiosity that hadn't arisen within his prior to that. And that was that he started to question what Merlin was doing.

Not to necessarily 'question', as though considering the validity of his work with the horses, his studies, his maintenance duties and those that drifted more towards the cleaning end of the spectrum. Arthur actually asked as though he was curious to know.

"How often does the farrier come out to your estate?"

"The names of the stable hands – I can remember the two with the blond hair but that third one I have no clue."

"How many horses do you have agisted altogether? You look after them practically all by yourselves; do the owners ever actually come out to visit them?"

And what Merlin thought was the most amusing, "What exactly is that you're using to scrub the floor with? I don't think it's particularly safe to be using your bare hands."

He'd been sitting atop one of the doors in the stable at that point, peering down at the damp floor dubiously as though questioning the safety of what was little more than soapy water. The only difference was that the detergent Merlin used came directly in a giant, unlabelled bottle from a local producer. It was probably unfamiliar to Arthur and thus the concern. What was surprising was the touch of concern in his voice at all. It was almost as though he actually cared.

"Is that worry for my wellbeing I can detect?" Merlin asked with a grin, pausing in his mopping to glance towards Arthur. The stables didn't get a thorough clean through with an actual mop and bucket more than once a year, and Merlin never really thought it fair to land it upon the stable hands. It was a bit of a thankless task and took up far too much of the morning if done thoroughly enough.

Arthur fidgeted in place as though the he was uncomfortable with the notion of his own compassion. "Hardly. It's simply that I strongly believe that standard PPE should be used in the workplace."

Merlin snickered to himself. "Strongly believe…"

"What?"

"Nothing." He went back to his mopping but couldn't suppress the smile that spread across his face.

They spent almost all of their time together. When Will went back home – because it was closer to work than the nearly hour drive from the estate – and Gwaine took himself off to seek his own amusements during the day – something that Merlin knew was a deliberate attempt to avoid having to do any manual labour around the farm – it was just the two of them. With the exception of Hunith and the stable hands, that was, which Merlin felt almost obliged to avoid because he couldn't include Arthur in his conversations when around them, they really were practically sole companions. The more the days passed, the more Arthur seemed to climb down from his superiority high horse and descend almost unconsciously and just a little reluctantly to Merlin's lowly level, the more Merlin enjoyed his company. He'd always liked animals, but there was obviously something different about Arthur.

It was probably because he wasn't an animal at all, but Merlin chose to ignore that fact. Arthur was simply something… other. He didn't seem quite human, and it was impossible to see him as such given his physicality, but he certainly wasn't a frog either.

Arthur rarely withdrew to the greenhouse anymore, except for at night to sleep. He didn't even flinch nowadays when Merlin showed him with the spray bottle, simply accepting it as necessary to avoid 'shrivelling up like a dried apricot' as he claimed it felt. Merlin still thought it was funny, still nearly cracked up every time the necessity arose due to Arthur's resigned and faintly exasperated expression, but he never teased Arthur about it. He wasn't sure if Arthur's dignity could stand up to the task.

Instead they worked alongside one another in what had become a sort of easy camaraderie. Or at least Merlin worked while Arthur largely talked and watched. They both ignored the elephant in the room that was the fact that Arthur was a frog, that they didn't know how to fix it, and simply… lived. It was surprisingly easier than Merlin had anticipated. And yes, he even found that he did quite enjoy talking to Arthur. He was a prat, true, would likely always be a prat, but he wasn't so bad. Merlin had been friends with the perpetually grouchy Will and the universally-acknowledged-to-be-hyperactive Gwaine for too long to let unique personalities bother him.

It was almost like he was getting to know Arthur. Not anything huge, and nothing particularly personal, because Arthur didn't seem inclined to revealing all that much about himself, but little things. Like how vastly different farm life and work was compared to city life and working at his father's business. How the stable master Tyr's younger sister who came with him one day reminded him of his older sister Morgana for how bossy she was. Of how he considered that the thing he probably missed the most about being a human – if it was possible to miss one thing more than everything else – was that he couldn't sleep in a bed anymore.

Merlin couldn't help but laugh at that, much to Arthur's initial indignation, but that disgruntlement had faded rapidly in a way that Merlin had noticed happened more often in the past weeks. It was as though Arthur simply couldn't muster the energy to remain affronted anymore, a fact that might have been sad in that he was losing a little of his steadfast commitment but Merlin considered a good thing. It was hard to think it anything other when he simply seemed so happy without it. Content, even.

"I think I might have been able to pick you for being a layabout," Merlin said in reply to Arthur's wistful longing as he'd been wiping Yasper down from her drenching bath. She was practically quivering with delight for the raking scrub of the brush over her flanks.

"Why would you think that? I could take serious offence, you know," Arthur replied from where he sat in the trough. He'd finally conceded to seating himself in such when Merlin spent his time amongst the horses, given that otherwise the direct sunlight was too desiccating for him. After he'd requested Merlin at least change the water, that was. Given that he had actually requested rather than demanded – albeit a little begrudgingly and almost embarrassedly – Merlin had agreed readily enough.

Arthur's words were deceptively mild, and Merlin could almost hear the threat of 'watch what you say next' beneath them. Patting Yasper's shoulder and urging her to turn around slightly, he shrugged. "I don't know, you just don't seem much like a morning person."

Arthur huffed a grumble of something or other beneath his breath before replying. "Well, not everyone can be as ridiculously sprightly in the morning as you, Merlin."

"I'm not ridiculously sprightly."

"Have you seen yourself?"

Merlin glanced his way. "Have you seen _your_ self?"

Arthur frowned. "What do you mean?"

Merlin smirked as he turned back to Yasper. "I mean, you're as grouchy as Will is most of the time. I expect you were the sort of teenager that needed turfing out of bed to get to school every morning."

Arthur paused for just a heartbeat too long for his following denial to be believable. "I'm more than capable of getting out of bed myself, thank you."

"Of course you are."

"Merlin?"

"Hm?"

"Shut up."

Merlin could only laugh. His amusement only grew when he saw Arthur smile. It was a frog's smile, but discernible nonetheless. It was the first time he'd ever seen Arthur make such an expression.

Such was the way of their conversations. It was as much teasing as anything else, yet less and less did Arthur's claims that Merlin was 'an idiot' and his sighs of exasperation seem genuine. It was almost voiced by rote, automatically, like a sentence stopper rather than words with any meaning. He didn't even seem all that indignant anymore when Merlin insisted on calling him a prat or a self-indulged princeling, which Merlin would have to admit were similarly more offhanded comments than truly sincere.

Arthur was still arrogant. He was still entitled and still a little too big for his britches considering he was very much simply a frog. But he was changed slightly. Almost forcibly, as though struggling to ignore the horror of his continued amphibious shape and their inability to determine a solution to the problem. At times he was even enthusiastic, animated, such as when Merlin lost himself in readings in preparation for the next year of uni.

Unfortunately for him, Merlin didn't buy Arthur's enthusiasm as being real understanding even for a second.

Arthur was almost glaring down at the textbook spread before Merlin as though accusing it of something. "I _do_ understand it, I'll have you know. I'm not incompetent."

"I'm hardly saying you are," Merlin said. "Just that your specialisation isn't exactly in veterinary science."

"Of course it isn't."

"So I couldn't think that you _would_ really know what gram-positive organisms and ocular microflora are."

Merlin was sure that had his arms been able to fold that way they would be crossing his chest defiantly. "I can... discern the meaning well enough through deduction."

Merlin bit back a smile. He didn't comment further, even if teasing Arthur when he clambered back onto his high-horse had become one of his favourite amusements for the day. Instead, he merely shrugged. "Yeah, I guess it is fairly self-explanatory, some of it," he agreed without really feeling it. Arthur was entirely full of himself.

"Personally, I don't find all that much appeal in vet medicine," Arthur said. "Especially after seeing some of what you're studying."

Merlin shrugged. "To each their own."

"I mean that?" Arthur gestured vaguely towards a picture of a horse's eye reddened, crusted and milky in blindness. "That's disgusting."

Smirking, Merlin leaned forwards as though to better peer at the picture. "Are you squeamish by any chance."

"I'm not squeamish," Arthur said with a huff. "I can just recognise when something is disgusting."

Merlin could have replied, could have provoked him further, but he didn't. Instead, in a show of his consideration, he turned the page of the textbook to relieve Arthur's view of what he considered disconcerting. He pretended he didn't see the slightly uneasy shift in Arthur's perch where he sat at the edge of the book.

"Merlin!"

Glancing over his shoulder, Merlin tipped his head in the direction of his mother's call. She sounded like she was outside. "Yeah?"

"Do you know where the old full-length waders have gone?"

"Waders?" Arthur asked, glancing towards him. "What are – is your mother going to go swimming in the paddock dam?"

"I doubt she'd be wearing waders if she was actually going to go swimming," Merlin replied. He hoped she wouldn't go into the dam at all really, given that the heat spell had finally cracked and an autumn chill had set in over the past few days. He turned more fully in his seat and raising his voice in reply. "Why?"

Hunith was silent for a moment and there was a bang of something clattering to the ground outside. She replied with a grunt. "Tyr and I were going to go and clean all the muck that's stuck in the middle of the dam from the shower on Wednesday."

"Why don't I go?" Merlin offered immediately.

"No, it's fine. I just need to know where the waders are. It's still a little deep for the halfies."

"It's fine, I'll go," Merlin repeated, rising from his seat. He offered a hand to Arthur who obligingly climbed straight into his palm. "I think we put them in dad's old study, didn't we?"

"Yeah, maybe," Hunith replied.

"I'll go and get them. Just leave it, I'll go with Tyr."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," Merlin replied, already starting from the dining room to the stairwell. Hunith offered grateful thanks in reply that was nearly inaudible as he took himself up a floor. He slipped into his father's study, the familiar room not quite dusty but with a very definite air of abandonment, and offered Arthur a spot on the still-cluttered desk before crossing to the wardrobe wedged in one corner.

Balinor's room didn't see much use after Merlin's father had gone. Neither Merlin nor Hunith had much use for anything inside, not any of his books, the personal clothes that he'd kept within its depths for some reason rather than his bedroom, the single, old and worn couch that had only ever been used when Balinor was reading over reports from the university he'd once worked at. The impression of his seat was still evident in the cushion.

Merlin ignored it. He barely spared a glance for the desk, for the mess of personalisation spread across it. He and his mother used the room more as a place for storage of old and only occasionally used items, the waders being one of them. Really, Merlin couldn't even remember why they'd put them up here. He made a note to just leave them down in the shed when he'd finished with them.

"This is your father?"

At Arthur's question, Merlin paused in the act of tugging the pair of full-length waders from where they sagged heavily upon their coat hangers amidst old and largely tattered jumpers and trousers. Balinor had never been one to discard old clothes, wearing them until they were practically indecent. He glanced over his shoulder towards where Arthur sat on the desk, staring at a single, framed picture.

Merlin knew what that picture was without having to cross the room to look at it. It had been one of Balinor's most prized possessions for years. "Yeah. He's the one on the left, though he was only about eighteen in that picture. The guy on the right that he's shaking hands with – Bill Haast – he was one of his idols when Dad was a kid."

"A scientist?" Arthur asked turning slightly from the photograph.

"What gave you that impression?" Merlin said with a smile, folding both pairs of waders over his arm as he drifted across the room towards Arthur.

Arthur snorted. "Lucky guess, I suppose."

"It's okay, you can say it. Most scholarly people have something of a look about them."

"You say that like you have quite an experience with academics," Arthur said, a query in his tone.

Merlin shrugged. "Well, Dad always brought people over for dinner from the university. I had my fill growing up."

Arthur was silent for a moment. A long moment in which he turned back to stare at the picture. It was old, a little grainy, and just slightly faded from where the sun had gotten to it. When he spoke it was without the jesting of his previous words. "Your father. He was a scholar?"

Merlin nodded shortly. He didn't mind talking about his father – he didn't, not really – but it would always be just a little… "A herpetologist, yeah."

Another pause for silence, then Arthur turned towards him solemnly. Entirely solemnly, and when he spoke it was in a heartfelt and sincere tone unlike any Merlin had heard before. "What happened to him?"

Drawing his gaze back to the picture, Merlin pursed his lips. "My dad is…" He trailed off with a sigh. Really, what could he say about Balinor?

Arthur didn't speak for a moment. When he continued, he seemed almost awkward to speak, though for once there wasn't even the vaguest hint of superiority or derision in his tone. "Is he… have you lost him?"

Merlin heaved another sigh. "Yeah, you could say that. He's been lost for a long, long time."

Again, Arthur fell into a brief silence. Then, in a hushed tone, he murmured, "My mother died years ago. I was still young, still a child and it's been a long time so I can hardly remember, but… I suppose I can commiserate for the absence of a parent at least."

Merlin turned his gaze from the picture towards Arthur, eyebrows rising. "What?"

"My mother –"

"No, I mean – shit, sorry, no that's not what I meant." Merlin cringed slightly as Arthur blinked up at him. "My dad's not dead."

Arthur stared. Then his mouth quirked in that way Merlin interpreted as being in a frown. "What? But didn't you just say -?"

"He's off in the fucking Sunda Islands in Indonesia studying dragons," Merlin said, scratching the side of his nose awkwardly with his free hand. "I haven't seen him in over twelve months. He's been taking off and 'pursuing his research' for years now and just kind of disappears. When he does come home it's usually not for long but – I mean, Christ, he's not dead or anything."

Arthur blinked once more. He was still frowning with his mouth, and though at first it seemed in indignation from the shifting of his feet – for Merlin's accidental misguidance, he could only assume – it gradually faded into bemusement. At least Merlin assumed it was bemusement. There was only so much that could be discerned from a frog's expression, even with a gift for reading animal behaviour. "Your father's studying dragons?"

"Yeah, he's –"

"Dragons?" Arthur repeated slowly, deliberately. "Merlin, dragons don't exist. I'm pretty sure they've never existed –"

Merlin's abrupt laughter cut him short. "No, you idiot, not real dragons. Monitors. Komodo dragons. You know, the big giant lizards."

Arthur croaked in an exasperated grumble. "You could have just _said_ –"

"Well, what kind of an idiot would think I actually meant real dragons?"

"You mean what kind of a person would take you at your word? For what those words literally meant?" Arthur croaked once more. "You are an immensely frustrating individual, Merlin. After everything, after all that with the magic, you didn't think that maybe the impossible and unbelievable might seem a little more likely?"

Merlin couldn't help but agree with that. Magic. Fucking magic. He still couldn't wrap his head around it, regardless of how his friends attempted to convince him that his own ability to talk to animals was practically just that. But dragons? Actual mythological dragons? That was pushing it a bit far, surely.

Or maybe it wasn't. Maybe it wasn't at all. Merlin didn't really know anymore.

At the same time, despite his amusement at Arthur's assumption, he sobered slightly. It had been an accident that Arthur had assumed his father was dead, which he wasn't. Balinor was still very much alive and living the life decidedly _away_ from Merlin and Hunith. The worst part of it was that he didn't seem to think there was anything wrong with his behaviour, that there was nothing wrong with having abandoned his wife to a big old estate practically by herself. That was what annoyed Merlin the most.

He didn't like to think about that, though. Merlin didn't like the feeling of being annoyed, especially at an absent person who wasn't even around to bear the brunt of it. Besides, now wasn't the time. He'd accidentally unearthed something from Arthur, urged him to speak of something that his tone more than the actual words themselves suggested was deep and resounding to him. The late Queen, wife to King Uther of Wales, had died something like twenty years ago. Arthur really couldn't have been more than a child himself.

"I'm sorry about that," Merlin said, and though he didn't identify what for he saw in the glance Arthur turned his way once more than he understood the apology wasn't for the confusion with the dragons.

Arthur shifted slightly, arms twitching in what Merlin had come to understand as being a shrug. "It was a long time ago."

Merlin shook his head, folding his arms more tightly around the waders. "It doesn't matter how long it's been. It can still hurt."

Arthur didn't call Merlin out on his words. He didn't blame him for his miscommunication, accuse him of not really understanding because Merlin _hadn't_ lost one of his parents, not like Arthur. Instead he turned to stare long and hard at the picture of Balinor and Bill Haast. When he spoke it was quiet and Merlin considered he likely spoke more to himself than to Merlin. "I can barely remember anything of her anyway."

Merlin bit his lip. That was… just a little tragic. "I'm sorry," he said again, even though such words seemed so inadequate.

Arthur gave another little twitching shrug. "It doesn't matter. I can remember the most important bits." He seemed firm in his words.

"Like what?" Merlin couldn't help but ask. He found himself suddenly curious, and not because he had any particular interest in Queen Ygraine. Arthur sounded different when he spoke, a little wistful, a little regretful, yet with an underlying determination in his tone, as though he was reminding himself of something. As though he were committing himself to a memory.

"Like…" Arthur began slowly, then paused. "Like what she last told me." He paused once more and Merlin didn't speak into the silence. Arthur was very clearly lost in memory in that moment, and when he continued it was in barely a murmur. "She told me that I should live for myself. That I should take every opportunity as it presented itself. That's what sticks with me the most. And I do. I will. I'll take every chance I can get, every opportunity to try something new." There was that determination, almost hard in his murmured words. "I'll try anything."

Merlin stared at him silently for a moment. He didn't really understand that, didn't think he was really grasping the full depth of the meaning behind Arthur's words, but he sensed it was important somehow. More than that, he felt subdued at the weight of what it meant that Arthur had spoken them to him. The memory was clearly important, revealing, even. He felt almost honoured in a strange way to have heard them.

Honour was something that Merlin had very resolutely refused to feel for Arthur's behaviour, because he'd never really had much consideration for royalty and certainly not for Prince Arthur. Yet he couldn't help it this time. It felt very warranted, and more simply because Arthur seemed so… human.

Stepping slowly, to the edge of the desk, Merlin spoke in a voice just a quiet as Arthurs. "Maybe you could tell me sometime. About what you can remember." He paused as Arthur didn't turn towards him, didn't even seem to hear him. "I'd like to hear about her."

Arthur did turn that time. He stared up at Merlin for a long moment, and for one of the first times Merlin couldn't read his expression. That was saying something, because he'd always considered himself rather adept at reading animal expressions. "Maybe," was all he said.

A long silence stretched in which Merlin could only stare down at Arthur. Almost awkwardly long, but Merlin deliberately truncated it before it could descend into that awkwardness. "Alright, then. You said you wanted to try something new?" He held out a hand to Arthur in invitation, tucking the waders under his arm. "Bet you've never raked a dam clean before."

Arthur's sobriety abruptly disappeared with a roll of his eyes as he climbed onto Merlin's hand, toes just faintly and familiarly damp. "No, I haven't. And I must admit, I'm not particularly inclined to wearing waders."

Merlin chuckled. "Have no fear, you won't be subjected to it today. I don't think we have a pair small enough to fit you."

"Thank fuck for that," Arthur said in feigned relief as Merlin started from the room.

"Besides," Merlin continued. "You're a frog."

"I had noticed, funnily enough."

"Wearing waterproof clothes would be kind of stupid for you."

"No shit, really? Wait, you're actually going to make _me_ go in the dam?"

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"It's filthy!"

"And?"

"And I have a standard of hygiene."

"God, you're such a pampered prince."

"No, there's a difference between pampered and having a standard…"

* * *

Riding a horse was an entirely different experience when one was a frog.

Of course, Arthur didn't ride alone. Even if he could have somehow communicated with the beasts, the use of reins and stirrups was somewhat inhibited by the shortness of his limbs and he doubted he would have been able to maintain his seat at any real speed. Which was just one reason amongst several that he rode with Merlin.

Merlin was a natural on a horse. He so rarely used a saddle or bridle that it was stranger to see him with than without. He didn't need either, and Arthur was convinced it wasn't only because he could speak to the horses. Arthur had been reluctant to climb astride with Merlin at first, so he'd seen more than enough of him riding.

Arthur knew he was good on a horse. He'd been riding since he was a child, as had been somewhat expected of him. But Merlin... Merlin was something else entirely. It almost wasn't even riding at all. He practically became one with the horse itself, shifting with each turn, body flowing with the movement in a way that it seemed as natural as walking, as breathing, holding on with barely a clench of his fingers locked in the horse's mane and a squeeze of his legs. It was captivating to watch, and Arthur had never been one to become captivated by anything particularly. Certainly not a farm boy riding bare foot and bareback on an Arabian buckskin, the pair practically flying across the undulating countryside and rapidly disappearing into the distance.

Arthur admired it. He'd only realised he admired it after watching with such captivation numerous times. Somehow, quite without precedent, Arthur found that he actually... he actually enjoyed watching.

How very strange. How very unexpected.

At the same time, however, his idle watching didn't last. Arthur didn't let it, had demanded to be brought along as well at every possible chance of late. He didn't think of himself as needy or clingy, actively refused to consider himself as much, but a niggling thought at the back of his mind preached the lies of that opinion. And in hearing that whisper of thought, Arthur discerned the truth.

He was a loose end. Arthur was terrified, had acknowledged he was terrified, to be stuck in a body that wasn't his own, and that he didn't know how to turn back. And he knew that one of the few things that was preventing him from succumbing to that terror was Merlin, the fact he stuck by Arthur, dragging him after him with words more than physical force. Merlin was the one he spoke to him and maintained Arthur's sanity in doing so, spoke of anything and everything but the impossibility of Arthur's situation.

The fact that Merlin was so animated, so enthusiastic, so seemingly carefree and simply loving life in all of its menial and back-breaking labour, somehow managed to brighten Arthur's day. Somehow and incredibly, because Arthur had never been one to care for the opinions of others in less than a business situation, Merlin's good-humour was infectious. Arthur hadn't anticipated stepping from his melancholy, being able to withdraw from beneath the looming, dark cloud of despair for his situation, but somehow it happened. It occurred gradually, over days that turned into weeks, but it was sudden in realisation. One day, Arthur simply woke up in what he had come to consider as 'his' lily pond and realised. He'd understood that he wasn't – that everything wasn't all bad. That it wasn't terrible, and subverted and horrendous as the situation was, Arthur wasn't... he wasn't upset. Not entirely, anyway. And Merlin had a big part to play in that feeling. A huge part.

No, Arthur didn't let himself think he was clingy. He didn't think he was needy, for both suggested a compulsive and insuppressible need to stick to another like glue. Arthur realised his situation, saw that Merlin and his company, that his teasing and his good-natured idiocy, was what made Arthur _feel,_ and he chose to follow him. Arthur wasn't blind to the fact either; he would have to be an idiot himself not to realise that Merlin and his life and simply accompanying him throughout it had somehow become his own. That it was what the knowledge of having a purpose however small, of speaking to another and being a part of their life, that got him up in the morning. It would have been a pathetic situation except that it simply wasn't.

Arthur was learning. He'd learned so much about the farm, about a lifestyle that wasn't his own, and at first it had seemed appalling. That had changed, too. It was curious, fascinating, even. There were no business suits and hour-long meetings. There was similarly no hours spent making phone calls and typing up reports that his PA was seemingly incapable of adequately compiling. There wasn't any formal and innuendo-rich conversations with business partners and clients both, no refined work station and rich offices, towering buildings of multiple storeys thick with workers with heads bowed over their tasks and immobile in their seats. The farm was entirely different to that and in a strange and unexpected way Arthur found it refreshing. It was almost enjoyable to be even a small part of.

That was unexpected, too.

The Emerson estate ran at an entirely different pace to everything Arthur had known. It was both slower and far more efficient than what Arthur was used to. While Pendragon & Co. was a multi-billion dollar company run by thousands of employees and managers, there was barely a handful of workers on the estate. And yet somehow they managed to cover all of the jobs and duties with their collective hands, jobs that Arthur had never undertaken himself in his life, had always seen as beneath him but was steadily realising simply took an entirely different skillset of which he was not proficient in the slightest. They were masters of their work, of hard labour and construction and reparation, of horse husbandry and care and maintenance. Not a one of the hired stable hands were incompetent, not one reluctant to put anything but their best foot forward even after a whole day of work. If a job needed doing, there would always be a pair of hands offered to help.

Merlin was always the first to offer, too. Despite being the employer alongside Hunith, despite holding a higher station than the stable hands, Merlin was never one to simply designate tasks for his own ease. He would always be the first to offer his help with any job, and more often than not Arthur saw him make such offers for the most thankless of jobs, the ones that resulted in his obtaining a layer of filth, or wavering on weary legs, or accumulating cuts and blisters on his hands that were the beginnings of but more callouses that Arthur could see.

Arthur was learning a lot from simply watching. He was learning a lot about the farm, about horses, about what it truly meant to work in a back-breaking industry and yet somehow maintain a positive attitude. And somehow, unexpectedly, just as everything else was somehow unexpected, Arthur found himself changing his outlook. That too was gradual, incremental, but he definitely noticed it. Arthur noticed when his derision of hard-work dampened to all but disappear until it actually did. He noticed when his observation of the dextrous and commanding displays of horse and rider became more than simply acknowledgement and grew into respect for what was truly a work of art.

Arthur realised when he finally acknowledged Merlin as more than simply a light-hearted, good-natured and carefree idiot. Because he was. He was so much more than that and Arthur… for the first time, even if it was initially by necessity, Arthur had come to enjoy his company. Just as Merlin had claimed to enjoy his in turn.

Arthur had always been independent. Always. And yet somehow, quite without his direction, he had grown to develop something very close to co-dependency with Merlin in the past month. Even stranger was that, Arthur didn't find it anywhere near as aversive and horrifying as he perhaps should have. Instead, it simply was. Just like everything.

Simplistic. Inevitable. It was.

Hence, it was similarly inevitable that, given that Arthur spent practically every moment with Merlin – in idle conversation, in teasing banter and exasperation that became less frustrated and more amused with each encounter – Arthur wouldn't stand for being left behind. He might feel uncomfortable on a horse, for who wouldn't when they possessed nothing to hold on with, but he wouldn't stand for it. Arthur had a place, however unlikely that place was, and it had become at Merlin's side.

Thankfully, Arthur didn't need to admit as much aloud.

The first time Arthur made his demand – because demanding was the only way he could manage in such an embarrassing situation and still maintain his dignity – Merlin didn't seem surprised or even teasing in the slightest. Urging Mordred, who Arthur had come to the understanding was something of Merlin's personal favourite, in a steady warm-up circle around the inner wall of the arena, Arthur cleared his throat in a croak loud enough to be heard.

Merlin, as Arthur had almost come to expect of him, noticed immediately and drew Mordred to a stop alongside him. There was no word that he offered the horse, and seemingly no urging with hand or foot. Arthur still couldn't quite work out how he directed as he did. "What's wrong?" Merlin asked immediately, his eyes flickering just faintly golden in a way that was only too familiar to Arthur now. Familiar and far from disconcerting; it was almost comforting in that familiarity.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "There's nothing wrong," he said, then stopped. Making a demand that was more of a request would always awkward. Arthur was far from practiced as doing as much and his time spent with Merlin was only gradually reversing some of his long-held habits. It was with less annoyance and more surprised amusement that Arthur realised that, perhaps without his knowledge, Merlin was urging Arthur towards such a reversal of habits. It was simply another thing that was unexpected that Arthur didn't particularly object to. Perhaps he should have, had a right to, but he didn't.

"Then…?" Merlin trailed off encouragingly.

"Are you taking him out again today?" Arthur asked, tilting his head indicatively towards Mordred. He knew from simple observation that the horse who was little more than a colt practically thrummed with energy that lashed out in aggression if he wasn't taken for regular rides across the countryside. The buckskin was a bastard of a creature to practically everyone but Merlin, and Arthur could swear that he saw dislike in the eerie blue gaze the horse turned upon him as he spoke.

Merlin raised an eyebrow at Arthur's words but didn't question Arthur's query. Instead, he leaned forwards to peer at Mordred questioningly in turn. "What do you think? Head out for a run today?"

Arthur couldn't understand horse-speech, which was what he had very much come to understand it actually was after spending days on end with Merlin. But he no longer thought it completely unlikely and just a little stupid that actual conversations were impossible. How could he, when Merlin spoke to Arthur in a way that no one else could? Arthur may be baffled by magic, may still find it ridiculous and confusing and utterly mind-boggling that such a reality existed in _his_ reality, but he could accept it. At least, he could accept Merlin's particular brand of magic. It was a little hard not to when his entire life seemed to have grown to revolve around it.

Yet he was picking up on the cues. He couldn't understand what he meant when Mordred nickered and tossed his head in reply, but it was very definitely a reply. Even more apparently than just a simple yes or no when Merlin continued. "No, it'll be too damp out there after the storm last night. I don't want you tripping and hurting yourself." Another snort and muffled grunt from Mordred and Merlin smirked. "It's not doubting your abilities. I'm just being realistic. Stop being such a whinger."

"I take it that's a yes, then?" Arthur asked. He might accept that he wasn't a part of such conversations but that didn't mean he particularly liked it. Not that he would ever admit as much, for who really wanted to claim that they were regretful about not being able to talk to a surly horse?

Merlin glanced back towards him. "Was there really any doubt?"

Arthur turned his own attention towards Mordred, who had in turn tipped his head to regard him sceptically. "It's been some time since I've ridden a horse," he murmured in what he hoped was a nonchalant tone.

Merlin didn't comment on what he couldn't have overlooked unless he truly was an idiot. A small smile touched his lips, the faintest hint of a dimple that Arthur had become all too familiar with over the past weeks, before reaching out an inviting hand towards Arthur. "Would you like to come?"

Pausing for only long enough not to appear too eager, Arthur rose from his perch on the fence post and climbed into Merlin's hand. "I suppose it wouldn't be too objectionable, though unfortunately I'll have to trust you not to let me fall off."

"Your lack of faith is so reassuring," Merlin said with a widening of his smile. Arthur didn't respond, didn't correct him that really, out of everyone in the world at the moment, Merlin had somehow and with remarkable speed become one of those he could trust the most. It was startling to realise as much, that a young man from a farm estate that Arthur would _never_ have spared a second thought for would suddenly come to be such a prominent part of his life. Entirely surprising, but true nonetheless.

Arthur didn't respond, but he felt his lack of objection when Merlin squirted him for his regular shower from the spray bottle a moment later was as good as any gratitude.

After that first time, Merlin didn't even ask Arthur if he wanted to come along. He simply accepted that he would, or perhaps expected Arthur to object if he didn't want to come. Arthur never objected, and he was grateful for the fact that Merlin didn't require his express request in each instance. It was embarrassing enough in a lot of ways that he was so dependent upon Merlin, terribly embarrassing, especially given that he had always been so independent, so alone and self-reliant.

It took him a long time, weeks of ignorance, for Arthur to realise that he'd come to need Merlin.

Nearly two months after Arthur had first come to the Emerson estate, autumn had heartily set in and what remained of the summer warmth had shrivelled into clouds and chill mornings that made Arthur reluctant to leave the relative warmth of the greenhouses. Despite the turn for the cold, however, life on the farm persisted as it always had; the stable hands still showed up consistently, as ready and sprightly as always, and ran the farm like clockwork alongside Merlin and Hunith. Rain or shine, there was work to be done, horses to care for and stables to muck out. That was only one more thing that Arthur had grown to respect for the farming life; they never had a day off.

It was just another reason that Arthur suspected he could never live such a life. He didn't think he could survive it, something he would never admit aloud.

The morning was spent doing just that, Merlin working alongside his mother as they set about conducting what Arthur had come to realise was one of many frequent routine inspections of the horses under their care. Arthur did little more than sit upon the fence and observe, something that he'd considered boring and frustrating for its distraction from _his_ problem in the past when he'd been attempting to convince Merlin but now saw as somewhat fascinating. He was far from excluded, however; what Arthur had come to realise, what he'd come to like about Hunith as he'd grown to appreciate from Merlin, was that she accepted him as a person. Despite the fact that she couldn't understand him in return, she always spoke to him and waited expectantly and respectfully for Merlin to translate any of Arthur's replies. It was so casual, so comfortable, that experiencing as much had left Arthur with little confusion as to why Merlin cherished Hunith so much, appreciated and enjoyed her company so dearly.

Arthur couldn't help but be a little wistful for that. Memories of his own mother were never stronger than when he was around Hunith.

By midday, however, after a thorough hour or two of sweeping through the hay shed and raking clean any must and mildew that lingered from the autumnal storms that had struck the estate weeks prior, Merlin suggested they take a ride because "Mordred needs to stretch his legs. Duchess says he's getting insufferable again". Arthur could only gladly accept the unspoken offer; he'd come to quite enjoy the rides.

They set off at a rapid pace that swiftly grew into a gallop as Merlin gave Mordred his head. Arthur had something of his own spot these days, propped against the edge of the saddle blanket that Merlin was insistent on using and Mordred's withers. It was a little precarious, or had been at first, but Arthur had gotten practiced at maintaining his balance. He wouldn't admit it, but the fact that on the few times he'd slipped Merlin had grabbed him before he could fall was reassurance enough.

As they drew towards the dam, Merlin urged Mordred to slow to a trot with a murmured word. The dam itself was swollen in comparison to how it had been the last time Arthur had seen it, the storms raising the water levels until they nearly overwhelmed the jetty entirely. The sharp, cool air seemed to erect a tranquil flatness to the surface as though it were frozen into ice, though Arthur knew it would be some months yet before it would freeze if it hardened at all. It was a pristine, picturesque scene stepped right out of a landscape painting. Or at least it was until, moments after Merlin had swung himself and Arthur down from Mordred's back, the horse, ploughed into the dam as though he didn't feel the chill of the water, shattering the stillness and perfection.

Arthur could only snort at the sight of the horse leaping and frolicking, tossing sprays of whitened water into the air in a display of childishness that Merlin's tales of his supposed maturity entirely refuted. That at least was a difference between Arthur as a frog and every other animals he'd come across; he would never deteriorate into such embarrassing acts, regardless of how much he'd come to appreciate the comfort of submersion.

"Would you like to go for a swim too?"

Arthur turned to glance up at Merlin were he'd turned his attention down towards him. He was cupped loosely in Merlin's hand in a hold that had become so normal that Arthur didn't even consider it anymore, and offered a semblance of a frown at his words. It was almost as though Merlin had heard his thoughts.

"If you're insinuating that I would like to make as big a fool of myself as your horse over there then you don't know me very well at all," Arthur replied disdainfully.

Merlin only smiled. "Oh, I think I know you pretty well by now," he said offhandedly. Arthur doubted he even realised the profoundness Arthur himself felt for the words, and more than that that they were likely very true. "But no, I didn't think you'd quite take after Mordred. I just thought you'd like the chance to go for a swim. It's got to be better than being sprayed in the face."

Arthur could only agree to that and as such didn't protest further to Merlin's assumption as he started towards the jetty. Merlin lowered him down to the wooden planks at the end and similarly without comment Arthur obliged. True, the world was a dangerous place for a frog and Arthur had grown more than aware of that fact. But though the pond would likely be far too cold for a normal person – a human – to swim in, he wouldn't protest the opportunity when it presented itself. With a backwards glance towards Merlin to notice him lowering himself to sitting on the jetty, Arthur took a leap into the dam.

It was cool. Very cool, and far colder than the last time Arthur had swum in it. And yet despite the coldness that he could already feel settling upon his muscles, slowing down their functioning, it was relieving. Arthur had never much been one for swimming, but he would admit that his perspective of such submersion had similarly changed over the past weeks. Even knowing that it was simply because he was a frog, that the necessity for water to maintain the dampness of his skin was what drove his inclination, Arthur accepted it. It was simply easier to accept than to fight the reality, at least in this situation. Arthur practically revelled in it, now.

Frog's eyes were far better as seeing underwater than human, and Arthur made the most of that. There were few things that he would appreciate in his transformed shape, and though appreciation might be a bit too expansive of a word, he recognised its applicability. The murkiness of the dam was alleviated by his sharper vision, and in rapid, strong kicks of his hind legs Arthur dove deeply into the depths.

He wouldn't spend long beneath the water, Arthur knew. Enjoy it though he would, it would always be disconcerting to be so completely in his element as a frog. Arthur disliked how familiar, how _right_ it felt, because it shouldn't feel right. It shouldn't feel so inhumanely right for him to be propelling himself through the depths of the dam, the shadow of the jetty overhead blotting out most of the wan light from the clouded sky. Arthur could still make out the tangled reeds below in spite of that shadowing, however, the mounds of rocks and pebbles speckled in thin films of algae. Dips in the ground revealed a scattering of minute fish, even a snail or two, and around the descending posts of the jetty hid more shadowed shapes, none were large enough for Arthur to consider a potential threat.

Then he saw it. Its shine was dimmed by muck and the depths of the water, but he saw it anyway. With a hint of exasperation, more to himself then in memory of Merlin's actions, Arthur swum with rapid strokes of his legs towards the half-buried shape of the phone directly beneath the jetty.

It was wedged firmly, Arthur noted as he slowed to a drifting pause alongside it. The sucking mud of the bottom of the dam held it tightly in place, propped against a rock and half curled beneath a tendril of reed that stroked it like a fond finger. Surprisingly, unexpectedly, as were so many things of late, Arthur found an upwelling of nostalgia flood through him at the sight of it. It was ridiculous, and the memory invoked derision and following upwelling of exasperation because Arthur couldn't _believe_ that Merlin had such incompetent butter fingers that he'd dropped the phone _twice_. How he managed such competency with manual labour, such coordination riding a horse when he clearly possessed a clumsiness gene Arthur didn't know.

But regardless, despite the clumsiness that made Arthur question the capabilities of human fingers in general, there was a touch of fondness to his thoughts when he considered the stupidly gaudy phone discarded and lost in the depths of the dam. Merlin had said that Gwaine had gotten him the golden cover as a joke. That Merlin had kept it, had even used it despite clearly having little inclination towards such gaudiness, spoke something of him. Now Arthur saw it as typical of Merlin's character; of course he would keep it, and would use it even if it was given him as a joke. That was just the kind of person Merlin was.

In many ways, the phone had been the start of it all. Not in quite the way Arthur had intended, and he could still recall his desperation that had urged him to demand that Merlin take him back to his estate with him because dammit, he needed the help, despite being too proud to ask for it. And Merlin had done it. Even when Arthur had retrieved him only a broken and useless phone as a boon, a phone that had subsequently been lost once more.

Arthur never would have done something like that had he been in Merlin's place. He knew he wouldn't have, because why would he? Other people's problems weren't his own, despite what his father and the world had drilled into him were his responsibilities as a prince. Arthur lived for himself, he always would, and only conducted such duties out of necessity because there was little avoiding them. He would never be like Merlin in that regard.

In many ways, that made Merlin just so… special. Arthur had never considered his mind-set a… a _failing_ until that moment.

The thought arose quite without Arthur's immediate understanding, and when it did register, it was for him to blink rapidly at the sincerity of that thought as Arthur hung suspended in the cool water of the dam. It was sincere. It was true. Merlin was special, and even more so because he was so vastly different to Arthur. Arthur knew himself to be smart, business savvy and capable of running verbal rings around most of his competitors, but he doubted he would ever be deemed a particularly respectable person. He didn't try to be and hadn't ever felt the urge to either because it wasn't him.

He'd never felt the urge until he'd been presented with someone who simply was. Merlin didn't have any reason to be a good person, yet he still tried to be. That was certainly enough for Arthur to deem him 'special'.

Arthur stared at the phone for a moment longer before he couldn't help himself any longer and swum downwards towards it. His fingers grazed across the algae-slick casing, slipping across the filthy glass in a struggle to grasp a handhold. It was pointless, though. It held fast. Arthur knew from last time he'd struggled to pick it up, last time he'd managed, how awkwardly it was to haul it to the surface of the water with his frog arms. It likely wasn't wedged all that tightly all things considered, yet in his form he couldn't make it budge.

For some reason, it felt a little sad to consider leaving it behind.

With a mental sigh – for really, what was he being so sentimental for? – Arthur turned and kicked his way to the surface. The water level was high enough that it took little more than a slightly stronger kick to propel himself from the water and onto the jetty once more. The cool air seemed even colder for the autumnal chill, but it wasn't insufferable. Arthur had long ago learned that for whatever reason his frog senses weren't as objectionable to the cold as a human's would be. Discomforting, yes, and a little debilitating, but it wasn't impossible to all but ignore.

And ignore he did, something that was enhanced by a far different distraction.

Merlin was stretched sideways along the jetty, arms propped beneath his head and legs dangling at the knees over the edge so that his booted toes dipped into the surface of the water. He'd closed his eyes, sounded to be humming something to himself that Arthur couldn't discern, and there was the faintest of smiles upon his lips that looked entirely natural. Merlin, Arthur had come to realise, was always like that. His face seemed to natural sit in a smile, his natural emotion be of happiness. Arthur had merely accepted that happiness, that smile, until…

For some reason it looked different. Or perhaps Arthur saw it differently. Maybe it was simply that his mind was caught upon the reminder of the phone and the memory it had unearthed. Maybe it was the dam itself that served as a reminder, the dam that they two hadn't more than visited in passing since the day Merlin had picked Arthur up. But for whatever reason, he saw Merlin differently in that moment.

He saw the smile.

He saw the long length of his body stretched out along the jetty in a sprawl that was somehow graceful, denying in stillness Merlin's clumsiness in motion.

He beheld the entire aspect of him, from the sharpness of his features, his cheekbones, his nose, his pointed chin, seemingly almost carved into a strange sort of perfection that contrasted starkly against his mud and dust-stained jeans, his smeared t-shirt beneath a thin jacket similarly filthy with sleeves shucked to his elbows. His long arms stretched overhead until they too nearly dipped into the water, fingers that Arthur had always begrudgingly and almost frustratingly considered elegant twitching and tapping to the beat of his humming.

Arthur stared and he couldn't look away. For a moment he was stunned, because he'd never conceived that before. It was as though he'd always viewed a picture tipped on its side, has accepted it in such a state and grown familiar with it like that, only to have it turned straight and to reveal a familiar yet somehow starkly different image, a different impression entirely.

Maybe it was because of how Arthur felt. Maybe it was because he'd finally, _finally_ reconciled himself with the fact that he knew he needed Merlin and, more than that, that he actually wanted… he _wanted_ to be around him. Because even without the fact that Merlin was the only person he could talk to, the only person who truly kept him sane, Arthur enjoyed his company. He was an idiot, true, and so vastly different to Arthur it was almost uncanny, and yet Arthur had grown to enjoy their time together, their conversations, the comfortable silences between them. To sincerely enjoy it, even if he wouldn't tell Merlin. Merlin would probably just grin widely and reply with an offhanded yet oddly deep quote pertaining to friendship or something, a comment that Arthur would only realise later held any real meaning.

Merlin was like that, Arthur had come to realise. His depth was at times hidden beneath superficial brightness, but it was certainly there. It just perhaps took some time to discern. Just as it had taken Arthur some time to see him _like that_.

Arthur had always quite simply categorised potential partners into 'possible's and 'discarded'. He didn't think himself cruel to do so; it was simply a matter of preference, of personal tastes in which fellow men and women he spent his time with. More often than not, vastly more often, such preferences were based upon physicality, and such partners thence discarded days or even hours later when their character and intelligence was found to be wanting. It was Arthur's process. It was how he worked.

Somehow, his impression of Merlin seemed to have been flipped. He hadn't considered, not even for a second, any kind of attraction, and it wasn't because he was a frog. Arthur's mind was still very much human, even if his body denied him that truth. It was distinctly human thoughts that rose to the fore as he stared at where Merlin stretched along the jetty before him, a surprised and dawning understanding of what he had never suspected capable of arising. It was baffling, confusing, and for the first time when contemplating any kind of relationship Arthur was unhinged because –

The thought abruptly snapped off when he saw the snake. Something in Arthur's subconsciousness kicked in, some kind of uncharacteristic protectiveness and sudden panic. The snake wasn't quite touching Merlin, wasn't quite on top of him, but was close enough that a darting bite to the face could prove dangerous. Arthur reacted instinctively.

In a jump that took him fully on top of Merlin's chest, he barked out a sharp and yes, slightly panicked, "Merlin!"

The snake reacted at the same time that Merlin did. Blessedly, somehow Merlin managed to either move faster than it or anticipate its behaviour. As the snake swung its head towards Arthur, forked tongue spitting from its mouth, Merlin was lurching into sitting and seemingly reflexively reaching for it. Arthur was thrown from his chest and onto the jetty in an awkward splat as Merlin's fingers locked around the nape of the snake's neck.

The suddenness, the unexpectedness and the panic was over in a second. Arthur rolled himself into a less tangled position and any lingering hysteria was vanquished to the sound of Merlin's brief, slightly incredulous laugh. Righting himself, climbed to his feet, Arthur turned towards Merlin and the snake both to find Merlin staring down at him with a mixture of amusement, surprise and confusion. It was a strange picture he made, half reclined and holding the length of a grass snake aloft at his side in one hand. Even stranger for the residue of Arthur's unexpected epiphany that seemed to draw his gaze across every plane of his face, catching upon his dimple and the curve of his lips, the brightness of merriment in his eyes as they swirled briefly golden. It made it impossible to be truly annoyed at him.

But then, Arthur couldn't remember the last time he'd been _really_ irritated by Merlin. That reality in itself was strange.

"What just happened?" Merlin asked, laughter still touching his tone as he glanced from Arthur to the snake held in his hand. Arthur couldn't understand snake speech, but he was fairly certain the creature grasped in Merlin's hand wasn't amused. "Kilgharrah, please tell me you didn't just try to eat Arthur."

Kilgharrah. Ah. Arthur hadn't even registered that the snake was familiar to Merlin, had only seen Snake! and for some irrational reason – irrational because he was a bloody _frog_ – acted reflexively. Of course the snake wouldn't hurt Merlin. Even if it were one he didn't know it wouldn't have hurt him. Arthur understood that now. He knew that and…

Yes, he felt a little bit like an idiot himself in that moment.

Struggling to smother his rapidly rising embarrassment, his mortification for acting so out of character, Arthur cleared his throat. "Pardon me for my distress," Arthur said shortly. "But a snake isn't exactly high on my priority list of species I feel comfortable in close proximity of."

Merlin glanced towards him from where he'd apparently – probably – been listening to Kilgharrah saying something. He raised an eyebrow at Arthur, smile widening. "Understandable, yeah." He sighed a little dramatically. "And here's me thinking from what Kilgharrah said that you seemed to be worried about _me_."

 _Stupid snake_ , Arthur muttered to himself but otherwise ignored the serpent entirely. "Well, that too."

Merlin's eyebrow twitched higher. "Really?"

"Of course," Arthur said with a nod. "How else would I manage to get back to the house if you didn't tame that beast you call a horse for long enough to get astride it?"

Merlin was silent and staring for all of a second before he burst out laughing. His smile widened further, eyes closing as he tilted his head back. Arthur couldn't help but stare. What had happened to him? All for one simple, passing thought, one realisation, and he could only stare a little wonderingly. Merlin wasn't outstandingly attractive at first glance, but that was only 'at first glance'. He had unusual features that were somehow more captivating for their uniqueness. Arthur wondered how he could have overlooked that, even in the throughs of the magical mania.

Even as he thought as much, Merlin was rising to his feet – a little awkwardly and clumsily, for which Arthur couldn't help but be fondly exasperated by for it's contrast to his previous impression – and carrying the snake to the end of the jetty. He lowered it to the ground, spared a murmured word for the gaze turned almost sceptically towards him, before the snake seemed to shake its head in its own exasperation and disappear into the short grasses surrounding the dam. Arthur hadn't realised the instinctive nervousness that had flooded through him until he was suddenly relieved of it, the feeling faded with Kilgharrah's absence.

Merlin returned to his side a moment later, crouching down to offer him his palm. "Good swim?"

Arthur instinctively shrugged as he climbed into the proffered hand, even knowing logically that he was incapable of adequately conducting such a gesture. Merlin always seemed able to discern it anyway. "Define good."

Merlin smirked. "You couldn't just say yes?" He asked.

"Why would I do that?"

"Life would be far simpler for you if you were just a little bit less objectionable."

"Maybe I enjoy being objectionable," Arthur replied as Merlin turned and started from the jetty once more. He deliberately turned from Merlin towards where Mordred, as though anticipating their approaching departure, stood dripping with ears pricked to attention at the shoreline. It was easier than looking up at Merlin and being assaulted with the confusing yet certainly intriguing afterthought. He would certainly have to think about that.

"You know, I could have pegged you for that," Merlin muttered, seemingly more to himself than to Arthur. Arthur didn't reply and none was apparently necessary. They departed promptly.

The rest of the day Arthur considered. He thought and he watched as he followed Merlin through his afternoon duties. He only grew more baffled and surprised by the moment, because it was simply so unexpected. This was _Merlin_ , who he had known for two months – admittedly longer than most of his temporary partners – and who he had only grown familiar with at all due to extenuating circumstances of the absolutely impossible variety. Arthur hadn't even liked him for the first few weeks of their acquaintance. When had that changed exactly? When they'd visited Cardiff? Afterwards, when Merlin had drawn him from his melancholic slump of despair? Arthur wasn't sure exactly, but at some point their relationship had evolved into something that wasn't quite friendship but certainly wasn't simply teasing antagonism anymore.

Arthur had always found himself drawn more women than men. He'd had his phase of curiosity, and though he'd often found relationships with men easier, more agreeable even, it was simply more often than he found himself in the company of women. Except for the past two months, anyway, in which Emerson estate had practically become his world. Until Merlin had become the one he'd spent the most time with, had almost solely spoken to, had even come to appreciate his familiarity with.

That surprising realisation, that surprising _attraction_ … it added a whole new layer, a new dimension to the mix. An intriguing, unexpected dimension that was made only utterly infuriating for one particular fact.

Arthur was a frog.

Fucking hell, what had his life become?

Another storm struck that night. It seemed to be the month for it, something that Arthur was only truly aware of because of the additional work it added onto the long list of that which Merlin and the other farm workers already had to perform. Gwaine barged through the door at just after nightfall, dripping wet and staggering into the dining room with heavy, panting breaths and a wide grin upon his face. Merlin all but ignored the intrusion while Hunith slowly lowered her fork to her plate and affixed him with an unblinking stare.

"Gwaine. Go and take yourself for a shower."

Gwaine's grin only widened, not a hint of sheepishness to his expression. Arthur had hardly seen him since he'd offered to help Merlin with his chores two afternoons ago, and then only briefly. "Sounds like a marvellous idea," he said, immediately turning on his heel and starting back out of the room.

"You're cleaning up the mess you walked in by the way, Gwaine," Merlin called, glancing over his shoulder after him.

"Aw," Gwaine called back distantly. "Won't you be a darl and help a man out, Merls?"

"Hell no," Merlin replied, turning back to his dinner. "I'm not that nice."

 _What utter bullshit,_ Arthur couldn't help but think to himself. He was actually more surprised that Merlin hadn't suggested he do so straight away. _Good on him for making that lazy arse do it himself_. It was with a touch of satisfaction that Arthur turned back to his own dinner; he even managed to consume it with something less than constant and reflexive gagging. Arthur fathomed he was getting better at that.

"Do you want me to take you out to the greenhouse, Arthur?" Merlin asked as he cleaned the dishes after dinner, Hunith bustling around behind him.

"Oh, yes, that might be a good idea, Merlin," Hunith said. "It's blowing an appalling gale outside. We wouldn't want you to get swept away, Arthur." She smiled fondly at Arthur as she wiped her hands on a tea towel.

Arthur only shook his head. He didn't much fancy going out into the storm when it was still raging so violently, and he doubted that Merlin would either. Why he'd asked in the first place was… well, that was simply Merlin's habit, but Arthur wasn't so heartless as to force him to do so. "No, I'll take myself. I'll just wait until it eases up a little bit."

"You sure?" Merlin asked, draining the sink and washing his hands free of suds with clean water. He flicked a peppering shower towards Arthur as he did so, the cool droplets coating Arthur's skin that Arthur absently spread with a brush of his hands over his head. "I don't mind."

"If it's all the same to you, _I_ mind," Arthur replied. Merlin only grinned before scooping him up and making his winding way up through the numerous hallways and storeys of the house to his room.

Arthur had become familiar with Merlin's room over the past months in a way that disregarded the cluttered mess and replaced his disdain for such untidiness with fondness for the quirkiness he beheld. He'd come to appreciate that the desk was slightly sloping, a product of being hand build from a distant ancestor. Merlin claimed he would never get rid of it because he 'liked its character', despite the fact that pens had a tendency to roll off sideways. Arthur liked the quirky little dragon-shaped bedside lamps – real dragons, not of the monitor variety – that Merlin always sighed over and shook his head for in memory of his father buying them for him years ago. Arthur suspected that regardless of how much he might seemed to uncharacteristically resent his father, there was no way he was getting rid of those lamps.

Arthur liked the casual messiness of shoes propped beside the door, of clothes discarded and half-hanging from the clothes hamper, of textbooks and novels lying scattered across the floor and desk chair as much as in the bookshelf itself. He'd even found one such book, alongside a highlighter and several pencils, wedged beneath he blankets of Merlin's bed one time a week before; Merlin had exclaimed that he'd wondered where it had disappeared to, and Arthur could only shake his head at the notion that Merlin hadn't even known he'd been sleeping in bed alongside a bloody textbook for God only knew how long.

And Arthur liked the bed. It wasn't as wide, as soft or as deep as his own, but he liked it anyway. Maybe it was simply that it was _a bed_ , but for some reason he was always partial to perching himself between the plump folds of the quilt. Merlin didn't seem to mind, nor even hesitate for a second to spray him with a shower of water that inevitably dampened said quilt to keep him comfortable.

Merlin placed him upon the bed without comment before he began scouring the room, idly picking up clothes and tossing them in the vague direction of the hamper before scooping up an old shirt and slacks and disappearing briefly from the room to get changed. Arthur was abruptly grateful for that barely-considered modesty. Given his thoughts of the day, he didn't think it a particularly good idea to see Merlin without such privacy. In reality, normally, Arthur wouldn't have had a problem with it, would have even encouraged it, but being a frog sort of put a dampener on such things.

Besides, it felt sort of… wrong, to so look without Merlin even understanding what he was thinking. Arthur was as startled as he was sure for his stance in that regard.

"I swear to God, if Gwaine forgets his bloody towel one more time…" Merlin muttered as he returned, shaking his head and rolling his eyes as he did.

Arthur glanced towards him. He'd clearly just used the shower, if ridiculously briefly in Arthur's opinion for he'd barely been gone for five minutes. His hair was still damp, sticking up just slightly as he ran his fingers over his head. Arthur could almost see the warmth of steam radiating from his body. What it would be like to be really warm again…

"Did he rope you in to fetching him one?" Arthur asked. He didn't dislike Gwaine, not really, and could even identify a kindred spirit in him in many ways. But even so, the unconscious dismissal he perceived from him because of Arthur's current amphibious form would always be a barrier between them.

Merlin snorted approached the bed, a second cool, damp towel in hand that he offered to Arthur and propped on the quilt in a familiar nest that Arthur immediately climbed atop. Then Merlin slumped back onto the bed beside him, sprawling flat on his back with a sigh. "Not hardly. He doesn't give a shit, just does a runner through the house."

Arthur blinked, then frowned. Or at least he tried to; his lack of eyebrows tended to make such an expression difficult to assume. "Really? It's not even his own house."

Merlin shot him a sidelong glance. "Are you trying to preach modesty to me? You?"

Ignoring the statement and what it entailed – Arthur didn't need reminding of some of his more compromising media scandals from the past – Arthur shook his head. "I'd have though your mum would hound him to have a little more respect, is all. She seems to be a bit of a stickler for that sort of thing."

Merlin nodded absently, smirking up at the ceiling. "Yeah, well, it's not like she hasn't seen it all before. It's been something of a habit of his since we dated."

Any further words pertaining to Hunith died on Arthur's tongue in surprise. "Wait. You dated _Gwaine_?"

Glancing towards him without rolling his head, Merlin cracked a smile. "Is it that surprising?"

"And you're still friends with him?" Arthur asked, ignoring Merlin's words. They were still friends after breaking up because they _had_ to have broken up. Arthur was sure of it, because they weren't… he was sure they weren't… they _weren't_ still dating. Couldn't be. Suddenly, that fact was something Arthur wanted to make _very clear_. "Why?"

Merlin shifted until he rolled on his shoulder, turning towards Arthur and curling an arm under his head. He frowned slightly, his smile dying. "What's wrong with still being friends with him?"

Arthur turned more fully towards him in turn, struggling to thrust back his unease. It was likely – almost certainly – a product of his surprising revelation of that day, but abruptly Arthur found he wasn't really all that fond of Gwaine after all. "It's not normal is what's wrong with it."

Strangely, Merlin's confusion and vague disgruntlement eased at that. He even smiled a little. "Oh. Well, that's fine. I've never really seen Gwaine or myself as being particularly normal."

"Were you friends before you were dating?" Arthur asked. For reasons he chose to ignore for the moment, he very much found himself wanting to know the details.

Merlin shook his head, which only enhanced Arthur's desire to properly frown. "No, we actually met in my first year of uni and started dating. Then we just stayed friends after we broke up. Gwaine's like that with most of his exes."

"That is entirely abnormal."

Merlin smiled once more. "Yeah, well, like I said, Gwaine isn't exactly normal. I've always known that."

"Neither are you," Arthur pointed out, reminding him of his own words. And Arthur's opinion, for that matter, though 'abnormal' wasn't quite as aversive to him in this regard as it perhaps should have been. As it once had been.

The smile on Merlin's lips died slightly, enough that Arthur abruptly regretted his words. "Yeah, and that's fine. I don't really want to be normal anyway either."

"I didn't mean it as a bad thing,' Arthur muttered. He wished he could retract the words almost as soon as he'd said them for how embarrassing they sounded. Really, how humiliating…

Merlin didn't tease him, however. He only offered a small smile that wasn't quite the wide grin he usually wore. "Thanks, Arthur," he said, reaching out to prod Arthur on the top of his head. Arthur let him; from anyone else he would have objected but with Merlin – Merlin he would let. Just this once, anyway.

They fell silent for a time. Arthur wasn't particularly surprised at that; Merlin was an 'early to bed, early to rise' sort of person, and for the amount of work he managed to squeeze into a day, roaring at a rapid pace with the exception of the moments he would spend reading through textbooks or pausing for lunch, it was no surprise that he would exhaust his energy reserves earlier than most young men in their early twenties. Arthur found it at once a ludicrous and also, strangely, just a little fondly amusing.

Merlin's eyes had slipped closed and Arthur was almost convinced he'd fallen to sleep when he spoke again. "You… I've never heard that you've had a steady girlfriend before, Arthur," he murmured.

Arthur froze. Admittedly he hadn't been really moving, but he felt himself still internally too. This was going into dangerous territory. "No," he said shortly.

Merlin's eyes blinked open slowly. He did look ridiculously tired, head dropping heavily into his pillowing arm, but he seemed determined to stay awake for at least a little longer. "Why not?"

Biting back the automatic reply of "Because I don't want one or need one!" Arthur took a slow, deep breath. He didn't want to get angry or indignant for once, and that reason was because he was speaking to Merlin. Because when Merlin asked, there was no accusation, no condescension or pity. He always genuinely asked Arthur, as though he were speaking to an equal rather than a prince.

Arthur surprisingly found that he actually quite liked that. He'd come to _really_ like that over the past few weeks. That neutrality and equality deserved a proper answer.

"There's not really a particular reason," he replied as nonchalantly as he could. "I simply don't have the inclination to… settle down with one person."

That at least was the truth. Arthur had always had something that was… it was almost like fear that he would miss out for lack of searching, of seeking and trying, in every aspect of his life. It was the same with his partners; if Arthur stopped searching, settled for one person, no matter how wonderful they were, he would be missing out on the new, the unseen, the unprecedented. How did one know they'd found the perfect person when they'd met so few people?

Arthur wouldn't take that chance. Not when perfect was unattainable as it was. What would he be missing out on?

"You don't want to settle down," Merlin murmured, and the touch of sadness in his tone was what drew Arthur's attention back towards him. There was no rebuke in his expression – if there had been, Arthur would have snapped in sudden fury because no one had the _right_ to rebuke him – but simply a slight wistfulness. Almost regretful but no, not rebuking. Arthur hadn't ever had someone speak as such to him before. "That's… kind of a little sad, Arthur."

"It's not sad," Arthur replied, shifting slightly in his towel nest. He tried not to get angry and was surprised when it was easier than he'd anticipated. He found he simply didn't want to get angry with Merlin. "It's my decision."

"Don't you ever wonder what you might miss out on, though?"

Arthur blinked. What he might…? He blinked again, confused. Yes, he did. And that was one of the primary reasons didn't want to – _couldn't_ – simply settle with one person. That was just – what Merlin was saying was just –

Before Arthur could reply, Merlin was speaking again. His words were little more than a murmur grounded in a sigh, his eyes blinking in slow weariness. "I've always thought it would be wonderful to have just one special person. To have someone that you can talk to about absolutely anything and feel entirely comfortable with. One person who thinks the world of you and who wants to be with _you_ more than absolutely anyone else." He huffed sigh that was barely more than an exhalation and closed his eyes briefly. When he blinked them open one more, there was a distant, distracted cast to his gaze that wasn't solely attributed to sleepiness. "Wouldn't that be nice too?"

Arthur stared. He stared long and silently, unable to speak a word. Just one person, one person who was more important than anyone else in the world and who he _wanted_ to be around more than anyone. Who he was entirely comfortable with, who didn't judge him for what he wasn't and accepted what he was. Arthur had never contemplated as much before. His entire life he'd been independent and sought what he wanted alone, relying on no one else. He'd never _wanted_ that before.

Arthur didn't realise he'd spoken his final thought aloud until Merlin spoke a murmur in reply. "That's awfully lonely, Arthur."

Once more there was no rebuke in Merlin's voice. No reprimand for not thinking such a way, and to Arthur's ears it sounded almost as though Merlin was considering his own situation introspectively. Just as Arthur was himself.

With a long, slow breath, Arthur heaved a sigh to rid himself of the hanging cloud of unexpected confusion and consideration. "Well, it's not like it matters now. I can't imagine many people would exactly want to spend the rest of their life with a frog." Arthur tried not to let as much misery and resentment as wished to arise in his tone shunted to the back of his mind.

Merlin didn't reply. Not immediately, anyway. He stared at Arthur for a long time, long and slowly blinking, and Arthur found himself locked in his gaze. He'd never really noticed it before, but Merlin had very blue eyes. Dark, not the eerie flatness of Mordred's, and deeply unwavering. When he didn't speak they were absented of their golden tinge, and it was perhaps because of that more than anything that Arthur hadn't realised. He couldn't help but stare right back.

"I'm sorry, Arthur," Merlin finally said. He sounded genuinely regretful, too. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you."

Arthur struggled to shake his head. It was ridiculous that Merlin would feel any such guilt, even if Arthur accepted that, however briefly, he had pinned his own blame to him weeks before. "It's hardly your fault, Merlin."

"I know," Merlin replied with a sigh that was a mixture of that persisting guilt and weariness. "But I'm still sorry. And just so you know, you really are free to stay here just as long as you want."

Arthur would have smiled if he could. Really smiled, actually grateful for the first time in… could it really have been years? Unfortunately, a frog's lips weren't conducive to such expressions and his attempts were in vain. "I… thank you, Merlin."

"Any time," Merlin said easily. They were such commonplace words, practically a platitude, but from Merlin they actually sounded sincere. Heartfelt, as though he really would offer the same any time Arthur had need. "And – I mean, it's hardly the equivalent, but…" Visibly struggling to prop himself up on an elbow, Merlin leaned towards Arthur. Surprisingly, unexpectedly – as was the recurring way with Merlin – he dropped his chin to press a brief, small kiss atop Arthur's head.

Arthur could only stare at him, speechless as he drew away with a slight smile and slumped back on the bed, head dropping to the pillow this time. "I might not be as exceptionally royal as you or Princess Guinevere, but whatever."

Slowly, Arthur eased himself back more fully onto his seat. It was that or face plant forwards in his continued surprise. Who in their right mind would want to kiss a frog? "Why did you do that?"

Merlin appeared to have signed off for the night with his spontaneous gesture. It didn't seem to have fazed him in the slightest. His eyes had slipped closed once more and he'd rolled onto his belly, half burying his face in the pillow. "Well, enough frogs have asked me for just that in the past. It sort of seems poetic that I should do it at least once. Especially when a real prince is right in front of me."

Arthur had to clamp down upon the upwelling of something akin to relief, to gratitude, that rose within him with Merlin's words. He'd never really wanted to be a prince in the first place but… _at least someone still sees me as who I am_. "So it was for entirely selfish reasons, then?"

"Entirely," Merlin murmured sleepily.

Arthur didn't believe him for a second, but he didn't voice his thoughts. Instead, he simply settled back on his haunches and watched as Merlin's breathing slowly eased and smoothed, as he considered what an entirely selfless act Merlin had taking him in, caring for him and seeking to help him really was. Why he'd done that Arthur still didn't fully comprehend. He wasn't sure he ever would.

But as he sat in his nest of damp towels, the cold wetness easing the tightness of his skin from the air-conditioned room, Arthur couldn't help but think. He couldn't help but acknowledge the understanding that arose in response to Merlin's words.

 _If there was only ever going to be one person… if it was Merlin, it probably wouldn't be that bad._

Arthur knew his own thoughts to be an understatement, even as he closed his eyes and let the shallow mimic of sleep that he always assumed envelope him.


	8. Chapter 8 - Metamorphosis

A/N: **Mersan123** , my dear, I couldn't leave you hanging for longer than a day :) Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and let me know your thoughts. I've received such loveliness and I can't thank every single person who has done so enough. Thank you! Thank you so much!

* * *

 **Chapter 8: Metamorphosis**

"Merlin."

The first thing Merlin felt was vague, sleepy disgruntlement. Disgruntlement bordering on equally vague irritation because dammit, his body clock was telling him that it wasn't morning yet and he _shouldn't_ be urged into wakefulness.

The bed jostled slightly at his side, a heavy weight sinking the mattress, and as lucidity settled upon Merlin it was with an exasperated sigh. _Goddammit, Gwaine_ , he thought. _You have your own bloody bedroom in this house. Why do you always have to come and crash in mine?_

He was awake, however. Merlin always woke easily, just as he always fell to sleep easily. As soon as he'd heard his name called from the depths of his sleep he knew he'd be awoken.

Merlin blinked his eyes open to the faint glow of his bedside lamp. It cast thick shadows across the walls, painting monsters across the pale paint and whispering secrets into the corners. Scrubbing a hand across the grogginess of his eyes, Merlin pushed himself up into sitting and turned towards Gwaine at his side. "What the fuck are you -?"

The words died in Merlin's mouth as he blinked abruptly into full wakefulness. He blinked, then blinked some more as he took in the sight of the young man before him similarly sitting up and turned towards him. Merlin registered mussed blond hair, wide eyes seemingly almost as surprised as Merlin felt, before he realised that the man was buck-naked.

There was a moment where Merlin detachedly and a little hysterically though _"What the fuck did I do last night?!"_ before he responded reflexively. He didn't consider himself a violent person, but his arm snapped out automatically, almost against his with. With a yelp, Merlin slapped the man across his head and launched himself tumbling from his bed in the opposite direction to the sound of a startled exclamation and subsequent grunt. A second later there was a crash as the man toppled backwards off the other side of the bed.

Merlin hardly spared him a glance, was throwing himself from the room in a staggering run that crashed him into the doorframe rather than through the door. He scrambled to right himself, stumbled into the hallway, and with a mad crash slammed the door shut behind him.

His breaths came heavily, in rapid, stuttering pants. Merlin slumped back against the door, pressed against the solid wood as much in an attempt to retain his wavering footing as to provide extra support to the barrier between him and the _fucking stranger_ in his _room_. Merlin hadn't gotten a good glimpse of him, the lamp offering a feeble attempt at illuminating the man's features, but that hardly mattered. The most important fact was that he was in Merlin's room without any clothes on, _in his bed_ , and Merlin was _not_ the sort of person to do that. Ever. He didn't pick up random strangers from the local pub to spend the night. He'd only ever slept with three people in his life, and only one of those had been less than his boyfriend. It was an experience that he wasn't keen to repeat.

Merlin couldn't remember going to the pub the previous night. He couldn't remember drinking either. When he cast his mind back it was to the storm, to a sedate dinner and Gwaine stumbling casually through the door like he owned the place, to falling into bed early after a brief yet oddly heartfelt conversation with Arthur that –

A knock on the door truncated Merlin's thoughts. He flinched slightly, turning to glance over his shoulder as though he would be able to see the man through the door, but he didn't move to allow it to open. He didn't retract his hand from where it squeezed the door handle, despite the fact that it hadn't jostled under the man's touch even slightly. Merlin didn't know what to think of the situation, but he sure as hell wasn't going to let the man out.

"Merlin?" A tentative, muffled voice asked. It wasn't quite a demand, yet there was a hint of expectancy in his tone. "I'm not going to barge through, but could you open the door? Please?"

Merlin swallowed convulsively and didn't loosen his hold upon the handle even slightly. "Who the fuck are you? And what the hell are you doing in my room?" His own voice was pitched higher than it should have been, warbling just slightly.

There was a moment of silence, a long moment where Merlin could hear nothing but the shuffling of feet on the other side of the door. Then the man replied in a low tone. "It's Arthur."

Merlin stared at the door over his shoulder. He stared and couldn't drag his gaze away, was rendered speechless by that single utterance. What -? Wait. Arthur? As in frog-Arthur? As in frog-Prince Arthur? Incredulity and disbelief, almost as fierce and far less amused than had been his scepticism when Arthur had first professed his royal status, tore through him.

Then his mind spun to an entirely different thought. Arthur. Merlin had fallen to sleep the previous night with Arthur quite literally beside him, perched atop a nest of damp towels that Merlin had provided for him. Merlin had expected him to leave at some point during the night but…

All he could think to say was, "What?"

The voice replied just as lowly as before, and though it didn't quite waver as Merlin's did, he was left with a very distinct impression of confusion bordering on disbelief. "I know. I mean, I don't know how – I don't know how it happened, but somehow I… I seem to have changed back."

Merlin felt his eyes widen, still unable to draw away from the door at his shoulder. He could barely see anything, the lights absented in the hallway and his night vision not quite able to pierce through the darkness, but it hardly mattered. "What?" He said once more. "How?"

The voice sighed. "Could you please just open the door?"

It wasn't an option. It was a ridiculous option. Open the door to a complete stranger? A complete stranger who'd appeared in the middle of his room? It hardly mattered that he claimed he was Arthur, because that was impossible. Arthur was a frog and there was no way that he could have turned back.

Except that even as he thought as much, the cogs were turning in Merlin's mind. The brief glimpse he'd caught of the man, even in the poor light, was slowly sliding alongside those his mind could dredge up of Prince Arthur. The unfamiliar shifted into the distantly recognisable. Merlin had never had all that much time for the royal family, even if they were of his own country, but if memory served…

 _No way._

Slowly, tentatively, Merlin turned back towards the door. Even more slowly he turned the handle and eased the door open. It was with an almost fearful push that he swung it wide to reveal the man once more.

He was standing about two feet from the door, bathed in the night-lamp light and only shifting back to allow it to swing past him. Blessedly he'd wrapped himself in a towel – or at least his lower half – but Merlin wasn't sure if he'd notice more than detachedly anyway. His attention was drawn to the man's face, to the strong, shadowed features that he'd only ever registered passingly, detachedly, as it sprung onto his screen as he flicked through the internet, or where it consumed half a spread in his mother's morning newspaper.

 _No way…_

Except that it was. The square jaw touched just slightly by a dusting of stubble. The straight nose that was nothing if not patrician, as though typecasting his royal status. The scruff of hair atop his head, darkened to gold in the yellow glow of the night lamp. Everything, from the broad width of his shoulders to the wideness of his stance Merlin registered as being distantly familiar, an image that he'd carelessly glimpsed on countless occasions and barely heeded. Merlin was slightly taller than him, just slightly, but he couldn't help but feel an upwelling of intimidation rise within him.

 _Holy fuck, I've got Prince Arthur standing in my bedroom. In nothing more than a fucking towel_. It hardly counted that Arthur had been doing exactly that, had been following him around for weeks now already. It was different when he was a frog.

Merlin took an unconscious step backwards. It was so surreal. "That's… impossible," he found himself mumbling, a hand rising to cover his mouth as he slowly shook his head. He could feel himself staring wide-eyed.

Arthur was staring right back at him, his expression just as disbelieving as they had been before. A single hand was clenched in the towel at his waist but he barely seemed to consider it as he shook his head. "Impossible, but it happened."

"You – you're really Arthur?"

"I swear to fucking hell I am," Arthur said vehemently. There was more relief than frustration in his words, however.

Merlin took another step backwards. "How? How did that -? Was it a delay? From when the princess kissed you?" His words were barely audible through his hand and he could feel his eyes incredulously widen further with every passing moment.

Arthur shook his head once more. "I don't know. I don't think so."

"Then how…?"

"You kissed me?"

The words were more of a question than a suggestion. Merlin blinked at Arthur dumbly before shaking his own head in turn. "That doesn't make any sense. That doesn't – why would it matter if I kissed you?"

"Maybe –"

"I'm not royalty," Merlin cut over him, his tongue getting away with him in his rising hysteria. "That doesn't make sense."

"It could have –"

"The only kind of prestige I have to my name is in deference to when Dad's lizards started calling him Dragonlord because apparently feeding them makes him their God or something, but that doesn't count."

"Merlin –"

"It must have bee from Guinevere, mustn't it? That's the only logical explanation, right? That it was a delay or something? Or maybe Nimueh's just grown a heart of something."

"Merlin, would you –"

"Maybe it's –"

"Merlin, _shut up_."

Arthur words, his attempts at interruption, finally broke through Merlin's spasm of thoughts. He stuttered to a halt as his back slumped against the hallway wall, his hand still loosely clasped in disbelief over his mouth. Apparently it hadn't done all that much to stem the tide of words that flowed forth.

Arthur had stepped forwards into the doorway, his free hand propped on the frame. He still looked unnerved yet less like a stunned deer caught in the headlights of a car than he had before. He appeared to be grasping at straws, struggling to compose himself in a way that Merlin wasn't quite capable of yet. He even managed a thin attempt at a smile, though it looked just a little sickly.

Merlin could understand that. This was… this was _wonderful_. Regardless of how it had happened it was fantastic. But Merlin couldn't quite reconcile that at the moment. He couldn't register it, couldn't comprehend it because Prince-fucking-Arthur was standing in his bedroom doorway, in all of his very human glory and dammit, Merlin shouldn't be thinking such right now but – it would really be _very_ convenient if he was wearing more than just a towel!

Apparently Arthur considered as much too, for when he cleared his throat it was with a glance down at himself as though sceptical of his appearance. "Um. Perhaps I could borrow some clothes?"

Merlin was immobilised for all of about ten seconds. Ten seconds in which he struggled to get a grasp upon reality, to gather his thoughts and to stop looking at Arthur's chest because _fucking hell_ was it disconcerting to try and associate the frog he was familiar with to – to _this_.

Then he was nodding rapidly, stuttering and babbling something that even he couldn't understand, and started towards his room once more. Only to slow and awkwardly skirt around Arthur until Arthur took a step backwards to allow him passage past him. Merlin hastened to his wardrobe, fumbling inside for anything that might even slightly fit Arthur, and all the while he was only too aware of Arthur standing behind him across the room and watching him.

Merlin knew Arthur. He'd come to know the frog Arthur in an unexpected and yet strangely intimate way that he'd so strangely not shared even with Will or Gwaine. But this… Merlin didn't know what to make of this at all.

* * *

Arthur's nerve endings still tingled slightly. His skin felt tight and strangely dry. Even his limbs were heavy, unyielding and nowhere near as flexible as they should be. As they _had_ been. On top of that, his head still hurt from where Merlin had smacked him off the bed and he'd jarred it against the wall. Damn, but Merlin had an unexpectedly strong arm on him; it reminded Arthur distantly of their first meeting and being thrown across the surface of the pond. He swore his head was still ringing.

But it was getting better. In the hours since Arthur had been jerked awake with a sudden chilling pain in the middle of the night to discover himself human once more, he'd been getting better. His body felt foreign, as foreign as it had been to find it as a frog the first time Nimueh had assaulted him with her _magic_ what now seemed so long ago. This time, however, Arthur was growing familiar with his limbs far more quickly.

It felt so good to be human once more.

He was sitting at the dining table. Actually sitting like a dignified human being, rather than perched atop the table itself. Everything felt disjointed and smaller, minimised as it _should_ be yet seemingly disproportionate compared to how Arthur recalled it as being. He knew the Emerson house, knew it well after living in it for the past two months, but it was as though he was learning it all anew.

Seated around the dining table, four pairs of eyes stared back at him. It was early morning, yet none seemed even slightly weary for the earliness of their wake-up call. Arthur didn't either; he doubted he'd be able to sleep for days for fear of waking up as a frog once more, of discovering it had all been a dream. He felt human – thank fuck but he _felt_ it – and as of yet there had been nothing to suggest him likely to revert to otherwise, but he couldn't be sure. Arthur couldn't be certain it was permanent, that he had really changed back into how he should be. He could only damn-well hope.

The reason for that, the exact reason for his change, still eluded him, however. It still eluded all of them, despite the fact that they'd been discussing it for hours.

When Merlin had thrust him a pair of jeans and shirt that were just a little to small for him up top and a little to long at the hems and urged Arthur to dress himself as though for some reason he desperately needed him to, they woken Hunith. And, naturally, because Gwaine seemed to have a radar for any kind of excitement going on in his vicinity, they'd been joined by him too as they'd barely entered the dining room and each taken a seat. Gwaine had nearly exploded with a mixture of incredulity, amusement and disbelief that was far louder and more profound than that which Merlin or Hunith had exhibited. It was he who had urged Will to come over post haste, a request that he'd somehow managed to pull off without Arthur, Merlin or Hunith realising he was doing so. Will's arrival had erupted into an entirely different display of incredulity.

Will had been repeating the same thing intermittently since he'd arrived, the words that Arthur knew he himself wasn't alone in similarly thinking. "But _how_ did it happen?"

Arthur didn't know. He didn't know how he'd changed back, exactly. He didn't want to look a gift horse in the mouth, but he couldn't help but wonder. Why? Why had it happened? Nimueh's words, her directions, welled in his mind once more. About the kiss. That was how it was supposed to happen. But… Gwen had kissed Arthur weeks ago. Months ago, and nothing had changed. He'd been kissed by a princess and it hadn't worked. Arthur thought it a stretch to consider that the effects hadn't set in immediately. A short delay might be believable, but that long? No, he didn't think so.

Instead, Arthur's thoughts turned to Merlin. To the kiss that he'd dropped almost offhandedly atop of Arthur's head the night before, for reasons entirely different to those that Arthur might otherwise hope to receive from him. There had been sympathy, commiseration, even affection in that gesture, but neither of them had considered even for a moment that it would change Arthur back into a human. Arthur certainly hadn't and he'd be willing to bet a significant portion of his inheritance that the thought hadn't crossed Merlin's mind either. He'd done it to be nice, to offer support and comfort to Arthur following their brief conversation. Of course he had, because no one in their right mind would kiss a frog just for kicks. Or at least, no one but Gwen, apparently, though Arthur still considered it was as much to make a good impression with one of Lance's friends as anything.

And yet somehow it had worked. Arthur was only becoming more and more certain that it was Merlin's kiss that had changed him back into a human. It had to have been him, despite the lack of royal blood flowing through Merlin's veins. Hunith, Will and Gwaine seemed to equally adopt it as somehow being the most plausible explanation, though not without further incredulity and objection on each of their parts.

"What the fuck were you kissing a frog for, Merlin?" Will asked, turning wide and faintly horrified eyes towards Merlin as though seeing him in a new light.

"Yeah, if you were that hard pressed for a make-out session I don't mind offering my services as a once off," Gwaine said. Arthur couldn't help but shoot a glare at Gwaine for that, which Gwaine, perhaps thankfully, didn't appear to notice. Arthur wasn't sure how he would explain his opinion of such a comment.

"It wasn't like that, you idiot," Merlin sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. He shot Arthur a brief glance before quickly turning away once more, shifting his attention back towards his friends. "It wasn't for anything in particular. It was just…"

Arthur listened as Merlin attempted to calm the suspicion and faint horror radiating from his friends. He listened and couldn't help but twitch slightly with a faint ache that had arisen in him since he'd become human. For alongside everything, alongside his confusion and disbelief and overwhelming relief that he was _finally_ human once more, Arthur felt uneasy. The source of that unease lay in Merlin.

Merlin hardly looked at him. He glanced, briefly and wide-eyed, but only for a moment before looking away. It was as though he couldn't look at Arthur, found it unnerving himself, and Arthur hadn't missed that he'd very deliberately seated himself across the other side of the table from him.

Arthur didn't know what to make of that. He'd never been particularly fussed by anyone else's opinions of him, though admittedly he'd never had reason to be. Just about everyone in the world flocked around him like clucking chickens because he was a prince, he was royalty, and he promised a good time. They didn't care for him on a personal level, but they clung to him anyway.

Arthur knew Merlin had always been sceptical and a little aversive to his behaviour in the past. He'd voiced as much in casual nonchalance, but there hadn't really been all that much else to it. Now, however, it seemed as though all his misgivings from before had welled to the forefront of his mind and were urging him away from Arthur.

Arthur didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. He'd never been concerned when someone turned away from him, had always had more than enough people to fill their place, but this was different. This hurt in a strange and unprecedented way. He did _not_ want Merlin to turn away from him, especially when he'd just become human once more. Why? Why would Merlin be so open and compassionate to a frog yet withdraw from Arthur as a human?

Arthur didn't like it. He really didn't like it.

But he forced himself to thrust that thought aside. There were more important things to consider, possibilities to turn over, and one of the primary ones was how the hell he was even human once more.

The ideas tossed around were all purely hypothetical. That perhaps the magic had worn off, that maybe Nimueh really had simply taken pity on him, or had reconsidered not allowing Arthur to turn back after Gwen's kiss. Hunith – surprisingly Hunith because Arthur hadn't though she'd had it in her to think so morbidly – had even suggested that maybe Nimueh had died and it had somehow reversed the magic.

Arthur wasn't sure about that. He simply didn't know. And yet somehow, each suggestion didn't ring quite true. There was a niggling at the back of his mind, an understanding that he couldn't quite perceive and didn't until the glow of the sun pooled through the window and Hunith rose to her feet with a sigh. "I'll rustle us up some breakfast, I think," she said. "There's no good thinking on an empty stomach."

"I'll get it," Merlin said immediately, almost predictably, and rose to his feet alongside her.

Hunith waved him aside as she skirted the table. "I'm more than capable of cooking a meal for everyone, Merlin."

"I know you are," he said casually, though for some reason Arthur swore he could hear a touch of strain to his words. "Doesn't mean I can't help. What happened to equality of roles around the household and all that?"

Their voices faded as they both disappeared into the kitchen. Arthur watched them go, frowning slightly at the vague uneasiness the both attempted to hide. For hide it they strove for, as though the situation didn't unnerve the both of them. Arthur wasn't sure if it was for his sake or their own but –

The thought sprung upon him unexpectedly on the tail of Merlin's, at the slight, unconscious suggestion. It arose on the edges of his consciousness before spreading forth into vivid memory. Nimueh's words. Her instructions. What she'd told him to do, it was a kiss, yes, but –

Was it really something so simple? Had Arthur simply overlooked the truth of the matter with a vague assumption? Was it… was it even possible?

 _A kiss from your equal, one who meets your_ station _, as you so consider yourself._

Nimueh had said 'one who met his station', but in hindsight there had been mockery in those words. As though she were disdainful of such an assumption. And when Arthur really thought about it, when he considered it, Nimueh had never actually said that it was a princess he needed to find. Nor a prince, for that matter, which he could only assume would do just the same trick.

 _Your equal…_

Arthur slowly turned back in his seat. Was that it? Was that really it? Receive a kiss from someone he considered his equal and change back? That notion, that possibility… it put a whole new spin on the situation. Not only was Arthur forced to recall the rest of Nimueh's words, her suggestions and her so called desire to bring him down a peg or two, but the whole aspect of equality itself. It brought to mind Gwen and how he'd always considered her as something of a younger and deluded cousin, of the women he'd considered an alternative, of his supposed 'station' itself.

More than that, it occurred to him that this 'station', this 'equality'… it was in Merlin who Arthur had found it in.

Arthur knew he saw Merlin as special. In truth he'd likely known it for some time, even if it had only registered to him so blatantly the day before. Merlin was special, and not only as a person but to Arthur himself. Arthur knew that now, accepted it in the privacy of his own mind. It was what made it hurt all the more that Merlin seemed so unnerved by the situation. He'd barely stood within two feet of Arthur since they'd woken up.

Could… could that really be it? Could that truly have been what Nimueh meant? He hadn't though of it before, but her words… He'd just _assumed_ …

Arthur was distracted from his thoughts when Gwaine slid over from his seat to the one Merlin had vacated. He leaned heavily upon the table, reaching half across the distance between himself and Arthur. Arthur couldn't help but shift his gaze from the kitchen towards him, regarding his with a flat gaze.

After a moment, which was longer than he usually managed, Gwaine spoke. "So. Prince Arthur, right?"

"Oh my God," Will muttered to himself, dropping his face into his palm as though he anticipated what would come and was just a little humiliated by it on Gwaine's behalf. Arthur thought he had an inkling too.

"What?" He said shortly.

"Prince Arthur…" Gwaine repeated slowly. His fingers tapped a disjointed rhythm on the table before he continued. "So you really were a frog, huh?"

Arthur stared at him for a long moment. Gwaine wasn't stupid – he quite literally couldn't be stupid if he was managing a law degree. At least he was managing as far as Merlin was aware. He just didn't seem to have all that much of a filter between his mouth and his brain. "You're only just reaching that conclusion? After the trip to Cardiff and London, and two months of Merlin talking to me –"

"Yeah, I know, and I _did_ know," Gwaine interrupted him. Clearly he didn't have any problem cutting off a prince, despite being informed of Arthur's status. Arthur doubted that much had really sunk in though surprisingly found that he wasn't as irritated for the fact as he probably should have been. As he would have been in the past. He didn't like being a prince, didn't like what it entailed, but the respect was something he'd come to expect. He hadn't realised how liberating it would feel to have it absented. "Like, ninety-nine per cent sure."

"You've got to give us that much, Arthur," Will said, stuttering only slightly over saying Arthur's name as though unsure if he should use a title along with it. Arthur was strangely relieved once more that he didn't; it would have been even more unhinging for Will to suddenly exhibit respect. Especially Will. "It's not like we've been able to talk to you."

"You don't trust Merlin's conviction?"

"Of course I do," Will all but snapped before making a visible effort to tamp down upon his frustration. He drew a deep breath and slowly shook his head. "It's just a lot to take in." Gwaine nodded in fervent agreement.

"You're telling me," Arthur said quietly, dropping his gaze down to where his hands rested upon the table before him. It was still strange to see them as such, even after hours of having real hands again. Relieving – _so_ relieving – but strange nonetheless. Arthur wondered how long that would last, how long it would take him to get used to opposable thumbs again and skin that was the _right_ colour.

"Merlin's practically shitting himself."

At Gwaine's words, Arthur snapped his gaze up towards him once more. "What do you mean?"

Gwaine shrugged as Will snorted and answered for him. "Can you blame him? He's been practically living with a frog in his pocket for the past two months and then you turn into a bloody human. That's got to be weird."

"Sort of like knowing someone, and them knowing you, but then having them be a different person entirely," Gwaine said, nodding his agreement to Will's explanation. That they were agreeing at all was profound. "It's fucking weird to _me_ and lets face it, we didn't exactly share a conversation when you were a frog."

Arthur glanced between the two of them. Was that it? Merlin was unnerved, perhaps even nearly as disoriented as Arthur was? Arthur didn't think that was even possible – he was only just getting used to the fact that he stood upright on two legs again – but when he really thought about it… yes, it might seem weird. Did Merlin see him as a stranger now? Surely not. Fucking hell, Arthur hoped not.

For the first time, Arthur found himself actually and sincerely caring what someone else was thinking. He didn't think he liked the experience in the slightest; it made him feel slightly nauseous.

Merlin and Hunith returned shortly with a Merlin-esque version of a proper English breakfast, what with the fact that the eggs and sausages weren't really eggs and sausages at all. Such was the effect of living with a vegan and – as far as Arthur knew – a nearly-there convert in Hunith. Merlin stopped shortly just inside the dining room, staring at where Gwaine had taken his seat, and it took Arthur all of a second to realise where the touch of concern came from in his expression. A moment later, however, and he seemed to steel his resolve and started across the room, dropping plates and cups in front of Arthur and his friends in turn. He nearly dropped Arthur's all over him, and Arthur wasn't sure whether it was a product of his incessant clumsiness or his unease. Maybe a combination of the both.

He did sit down beside Arthur, however. After a moment of hesitation, he seemed to harden his resolve once more and drew out the chair at Arthur's side. Arthur was far from oblivious to the tentative, sidelong glances Merlin spared him throughout the entire meal. Even more aware was he of the fact that Merlin… Merlin's eyes were blue. Blue and only blue, without a hint of the gold as he spoke even vaguely in Arthur's direction. For the first time, Arthur spoke _to_ him and received a reply without that brief flash that he'd become so familiar with.

Arthur would be lying if he said he wasn't more than a little distracted by the prospect of eating. Food had never tasted so good; Arthur didn't even care that it was a vegan supplement. It tasted like heaven in a mouthful after the deterrence of his palate for the past months. It was all he could do to ensure he ate with a semblance of manners. The opposable thumbs were a trial, but he thought he managed. No one commented anyway, and though Arthur wouldn't exactly expect as much from Merlin or Hunith, Will certainly wouldn't hold back out of decency and Gwaine would probably blurt out his opinion before realising it.

Still, even with that distraction… it was disjointing and strangely saddening to realise. Arthur found he sort of missed that gold. It felt like a loss; not even the distant memory of Nimueh's own orange-gold colouring could sway him on that.

When they finished, there was a moment of pause. A moment of silence in which they all simply sat, at a loss as to how to proceed. It was Hunith who broke the lull that Gwaine had been fidgeting through as though he was sitting on an ant's nest. She leaned slightly towards Arthur as she spoke. "What are you going to do now, Arthur?"

Arthur met her gaze with a slow turning of his own. What did he do? Well, he would have to go back, wouldn't he? To his life, to being a Prince and VP of Pendragon & Co., to Cardiff or London and…

Unconsciously, Arthur glanced sidelong towards Merlin. He'd never seen him so subdued before; it was of a different kind entirely even to that which had momentarily gripped him on their trip back from London, which Arthur had admittedly only detachedly been aware of. His eyes were still blown just a little wider than was usual, and Arthur hadn't seen him smile once that morning. That more than anything was wrong. A Merlin without a smile was like a fish out of water. Impossible. Maybe he really was as unnerved as Will had suggested.

Merlin met his gaze briefly, peering sidelong before dropping it once more. He didn't speak but merely bit his lip, chin tucking downward slightly. Arthur wanted to say something, to speak to Merlin and Merlin only and preferably in as much privacy as he could obtain, but he didn't. He wasn't sure if Merlin would want that, whether he wanted to talk to him and no, Arthur wasn't particularly practiced at the whole 'consideration' thing but he wasn't so blind as to think dragging Merlin into further discomfort would help the situation. And he very much didn't want to discomfort him. So instead he turned back to Hunith and cleared his throat.

"I'll have to see, first. I don't know what the situation is, particularly in regard to the doppelganger who has been assuming my role in the past months."

"Oh yeah, fuck, forgot about that," Gwaine murmured, nodding with a thinning of his lips. "You reckon he's still around?"

"How would he possibly know any better than anyone else?" Will asked shaking his head as though he couldn't believe the foolishness of Gwaine's question.

"Well, I figured he might know that Nimueh bitch a little better than us at least. Might have an idea."

"Language, Gwaine," Hunith said.

"Sorry, Hunith."

Arthur shook his head. "I don't know. To be honest, I hardly know Nimueh at all either. She was my mother's friend and advisor for years and the king simply kept her on because, I don't know, he felt sorry for her or something. I had little to do with her personally, even though she was just always… around."

"And now she's buggered off," Gwaine said.

"Gwaine, please," Hunith sighed.

"Sorry."

Arthur pressed his lips together. "Yes, well, with any hope I'll be able to track her down and work out what exactly is going on, how it happened and how to make sure it doesn't happen again." Really, just the thought of someone like Nimueh skulking around with the kind of power she had was ridiculously daunting. And everyone else? What other powers lay about, hidden or unrealised? Arthur doubted that most would be as benevolent and harmless as Merlin's. He wasn't sure how much he wanted to think about that, let alone what he should _do_ about it. "I know a few people that I could contact to track her down. Security at the castle might have some back records on her behaviour before she departed and I could potentially get my hands on her transaction details to work out where she's been, so…" Arthur trailed off as he saw the simultaneous rising of Gwaine and Will's eyebrows, Hunith's faintly startled blinks and even Merlin's wary, sidelong glance. "What?"

Surprisingly, it was Merlin who answered. Quietly, barely audible words that would have been too hushed to hear if anyone else were about and entirely devoid of golden eyes. "You really do have the power and connections of a prince, I guess," he said with a nod. Then, "This is really so weird." He offered Arthur a smile, but it was so feeble and strained that it almost would have been better for him not to attempt it at all.

So that was it. Merlin really was disconcerted. Arthur tried not to let the blow hit him too hard, tried to simply insist to himself that it wasn't a problem and that 'weird' didn't necessarily mean bad. When Hunith had asked what he wanted to do now, talk to Merlin had risen to the forefront of his mind. Dammit, but he didn't want to leave, not now, even if he had a witch or whatever she was to track down, a doppelganger to vanquish and a life to get back on track. And responsibilities. Arthur _hated_ responsibilities, avoided them at all costs, but if he had any hopes of continuing life in any way similar to how he had before this whole debacle had begun he would have to step up to the game.

Arthur didn't know what to do with Merlin. He really, really didn't want to leave, but…

Clearing his throat once more, Arthur turned his attention back to Hunith. It was easier to meet her open curiosity than Merlin's guardedness. "I'll have to make a few calls. I'll see if Leon's around – he might be able to help out."

"Your bodyguard?" Gwaine asked with perhaps a little more enthusiasm than was duly necessary.

"Won't he be babysitting the doppelganger?" Will asked.

Arthur nodded. "What day is it again?"

"Wednesday," Merlin provided quietly.

"Right. So if the doppelganger is following my schedule then it should be heading into the office at about eight-thirty."

"Unless he's got a hangover," Will supplied, with a touch of a smirk. At Arthur's narrow-eyed glance he shrugged. "Hey, I've read the news. You haul arse when you please after a late night."

"Thank you for your contribution," Arthur said icily. He still didn't think he liked Will anymore than he had when he was a frog.

Gwaine chuckled. "And there, ladies and gents, we have the prince."

Merlin and Hunith both seemed to ignore Gwaine and Will, as Arthur knew they were practiced at doing. Neither cracked a laugh or even a smile themselves as Hunith continued. "Then perhaps if you give your bodyguard a call this morning? See if you can discern the situation at that end?"

Arthur nodded his agreement. "As good a plan as any."

Hunith nodded in turn before rising to her feet. She stacked the plates as she continued. "Then that's what we'll do. But before that – pardon me if I sound insensitive, Arthur, given that you've spent so much time submerged of late, but would you fancy a shower? A warm shower for once, perhaps?"

Arthur thought a shower had never sounded so inviting, but Gwaine spoke before he could reply. "Basically she's telling you that you stink."

Surprisingly, it wasn't Will but Merlin who jumped to refute. He sighed and with a roll of his eyes dropped his elbow onto the table and chin into his palm. "No she's not. And if anything, he smells better than you do, Gwaine. You didn't even have a proper shower last night after your trip through the storm, did you?"

Gwaine smirked and shrugged. "A hose down is as good as a shower."

"It's not," Will said by way of contribution. "Get your arse up to the shower too, you."

Arthur couldn't help but smile slightly at that as he rose to his own feet, picking up his plate to take it to the kitchen. He wasn't particularly practiced in the art of cleaning by hand, had a housekeeper to do that in his London flat and a dishwasher to manage what wasn't taken care of for him, but it would have been strange to have Hunith or one of the other young men do it for him. Arthur didn't know where that inclination arose from but it was solid nonetheless. Maybe it was simply that he'd seen too much of everyone chipping in to help over the past months for it to sit easy with him? Now that he could, at least. He'd been all but useless for weeks now.

But what he was really urged him to smile was that Merlin sounded almost normal. True, he hadn't spoken to Arthur directly, but there was something more that uneasiness in his tone when he'd rebuked Gwaine.

The shower was heaven. It was true, Arthur had spent an ungodly amount of time in the water since he'd become a frog, but a shower was entirely different. Actually feeling the warmth upon his skin, hot enough that his arms and chest flushed pink, was a gift he'd never really appreciated before. He would have stood beneath the heavy downpour for hours if he'd had the time, but Arthur was very aware of the phone call he had to make.

Merlin was waiting for him with phone in hand in the central living room. All of them were, with Gwaine and Will clearly attempting to appear casual while failing entirely and Hunith perched in what Arthur had come to acknowledge as being her customary armchair and not even bothering to pretend. Arthur took the offered phone and spared a moment to get his bearing; his thumbs didn't feel quite as much like unwieldy balloons as they had when he'd first changed back but it was still a little bit disorienting. Not only that but it was a struggle to recall Leon's phone number at all; he'd not bothered to remember it off the top of his head in years.

The call got through on the third ring, prompt as Leon always was. "Degrace," he said shortly, and Arthur almost sagged for the familiarity of his voice.

"Leon," he said just as shortly by way of introduction.

"Arthur?" Leon replied, a touch of surprise in his tone. "Where are you? I've been to your place but you're not about." He paused, then replied with an expectant, "Do you need picking up from somewhere?"

Arthur had heard his friend and bodyguard use just those words countless times, yet for some reason this time he had to fight not to cringe. It sounded terrible. Had it always sounded like that? Was it Leon's tone or the words themselves that made Arthur sound like an appalling excuse for a human being? Or was it merely his perception? Arthur wasn't sure, but it sat very firmly in the column of Wrong.

"Yeah, if you could pick me up that would be great," he said, hearing the slightly subdued touch to his tone.

"Where are you?" Leon asked without ceremony. No, it certainly hadn't been in his tone that Arthur had heard it. Of course it wouldn't be. Leon would never be like that.

"Up near Aberystwyth, actually," Arthur replied.

There was a long pause before Leon replied in utter bafflement. "What the hell are you doing up there? _How_ did you get up there? Did you drive last night?"

"Yeah, something like that," Arthur said and, glancing towards Merlin, swallowed and supplied with, "I was meeting a friend." He tried not to think too much of what it meant that Merlin, standing not three feet away, dropped his gaze to his toes.

"A friend?"

"Yes. Just a friend." For whatever reason, that simple phrase tasted bitter on Arthur's tongue. "But Leon, are you at my flat right now?"

"No, I just left. Do you need a change of clothes?"

"I – " Arthur paused, casting a glance down at the outfit he'd borrowed from Merlin. "Yes, that might be a good idea. What I actually meant was did you see anyone there?"

Leon paused himself for a long moment. When he replied, there was a sharp edge to his voice. "Should there be? Are you expecting someone? Arthur, what's wrong?"

Arthur shook his head, even knowing that Leon couldn't see him. "No, there's nothing. Nothing's wrong."

"It didn't look to me as though anyone had been there," Leon continued, the edge still remaining in his tone. "Nothing out of place, bed unslept in. That's why I thought you must have been somewhere else, but when I called your phone I couldn't get through to you."

Arthur fell silent for a brief moment in which something akin to relief flooded through him. No one there? No sign of anyone there either? And his phone unreachable? Arthur didn't want to jump to conclusions, but it sounded tentatively in his favour considering the doppelganger. He could only hope.

"You'll be able to pick me up, yes?" Arthur asked. "Unfortunately it seems I might be getting into work late today." If Arthur would take a trip into work at all that day it would be a miracle but he didn't say that.

"I'll drop you halfway," Merlin suddenly said, drawing Arthur's attention towards him once more.

"No, it's fine," Arthur began, but Merlin shook his head.

"It'll just take longer for him to get here then go back again. Besides, it's hardly fair to make him drive six hours in a day himself." He glanced towards Will. "What's halfway to Cardiff? About Brecon, do you think?"

Will nodded. "Yeah, if you're going inland, I'd say."

Merlin turned back towards Arthur, nodding in turn. "Yeah, say Brecon, down in Powys. I'll drop you there. It'll just be easier."

 _Easier for what?_ Arthur didn't say. He wasn't sure he wanted to know. It was very likely Merlin was offering for selfless reasons – it would only be expected of him, really – but Arthur couldn't shake the suspicion that maybe Merlin wanted him gone. Was he that disconcerted? And when had Arthur grown to care so much? He didn't know, only knew that he did and the thought hurt just a little.

But Leon was talking in his ear, asking with increasing concern as though worried that Arthur had disappeared from the other end of the line, so Arthur turned his attention back towards him. "Can you make it to Brecon, Leon?"

"Brecon?" Leon asked, and there was a pause in which Arthur could only assume he was double-checking the point on his own phone to determine where it was. "Yeah, I could get there in under two hours. I'll call this phone along the way?"

"Thanks," Arthur said with a nod. Leon murmured a brief farewell before the line cut short.

"You didn't have to offer that, you know," Arthur said, turning towards Merlin as he handed him back his phone.

Merlin only shrugged. "It's no problem. I don't mind."

Arthur opened his mouth to say more, to add _some_ thing, but found himself at a loss. Instead, he only nodded and murmured a short "Thank you." For some reason it didn't seem like enough.

* * *

Brecon was a quiet little town of barely more than eight thousand people. Small and sedate, it reminded Merlin more of his own hometown than it did of Cardiff that stood just as far away beyond it. By midmorning, there was barely traffic to warrant the term, and Merlin drove them to the cathedral they'd decided to be their meeting place easily enough.

It had been a subdued trip south with awkward exchanges all around. Or at least Merlin perceived the exchanges to be awkward from his perspective, from the perspectives of Gwaine and Will who both seemed to be struggling to hide their unease. From Arthur, Merlin could glean only cool composure.

He was different. He was acting different to how Merlin had known him, and though much of that was surely attributed to his returned human status, there was something else, too. Merlin couldn't quite put his finger on it, but it was apparent from the glances Arthur spared him sidelong, the moments when he would open his mouth as though to speak before turning to peer out the window.

Merlin was nearly tearing his hair out, a feeling he was not familiar with in the slightest. He didn't stress, wasn't a worrier, and yet the entire situation was setting his teeth on edge. And it all came down to two very important, contrasting features: Merlin felt like he knew Arthur, had even become friends with him over the past months and enjoyed spending time with him. He liked talking to him, enjoyed their teasing, bantering exchanges as much as when Arthur took a turn for the solemn and would speak in seriousness. Merlin had though he'd come to know Arthur quite well, very well, even, and yet…

On the other hand, peering at him sidelong, Merlin was thrown for a loop. He couldn't reconcile it, couldn't place the image he'd perceived of Arthur, the one he'd built of him over the past months, with the man who sat beside him. Images of what he'd seen of him in the news, of his antics and his arrogance, his blasé attitude and his frustrated demeanour in the face of anyone who requested anything of him or spoke to him when he didn't want them to, rose to the forefront of Merlin's mind and seemed to scatter his perceptions. He shouldn't let it, wouldn't allow them to sway him, but it was a struggle. Merlin had never had much time for the royal family in the past, but it was a little hard to see anything but a prince when Arthur sat with such easy confidence in his seat, almost regal and yet somehow casual at the same time.

Such an impression hadn't quite been afforded Merlin when Arthur was a frog.

Merlin wanted to talk to him. He wanted to ask him questions, to be certain that Arthur really was the same person he'd become familiar with, the same person he'd sincerely come to like, but he couldn't. Because Arthur was a prince who seemed nothing if not intent upon heading back to his life and Merlin was…

Merlin was just a little star-struck. He never would have expected as much from himself, but there it was. It didn't help that Arthur was absolutely gorgeous, far more so in person than he appeared with an arrogant smirk or disdainful scowl in paparazzi pictures. Merlin hadn't seen that particular expression once since Arthur had become human once more.

It was disconcerting, unhinging, and Merlin didn't know how to handle it. He was well and truly out of his depth, just a little intimidated, and desperately hoping that Arthur wouldn't just pick up and leave because Merlin almost couldn't imagine that. He'd had Arthur as his companion for weeks now; what would it be like without him? But Merlin wouldn't ask. He couldn't. It was almost a struggle to speak at all. He feared he'd make a right fool of himself, and though Merlin had rarely cared if others thought him an idiot, in this instance…

Yes, in this instance he suddenly cared very much.

They pulled up in the car park to the north of the cathedral, idling to a stop with a putter. Merlin paused for a moment, unmoving as he peered sidelong at Arthur once more. Arthur was leaning forwards slightly, drawing his gaze searchingly out the windscreen. Probably looking for Leon, Merlin assumed, and couldn't suppress the twinge that tugged in his chest at the thought. He really was only too keen to get gone.

Merlin reached into the pocket of the centre console and extracted a pair of sunglasses. He held them out to Arthur with a gesture. "Here."

Arthur turned towards him, staring for a moment before he dropped his gaze to the sunglasses. His lips tugged in a small smile and if that wasn't disconcerting Merlin didn't know what was. It had been weeks that Merlin had used only what little insinuation his gift gave him to perceive animal language to read even a hint of amusement from Arthur's expression. This was so obvious, so drastically difficult, it was unnerving all over again.

"Incognito?" Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow at Merlin.

Merlin only shrugged with as much casualness as he could manage. "Better than nothing, right? I can't imagine explaining away you suddenly appearing halfway up the coast when you're supposed to be at work would be easily explained."

Arthur nodded, the smile tugging on his lips once more. "Thanks," was all he said before slipping them on. That simple word itself was confusing; what little Merlin had read about, had heard of from Arthur, bespoke little sincerity and consideration for any of his exchanges. The discrepancy between rumour and reality had been easier to overlook when Arthur was a frog, but when he was human? Not so much.

They filed out of the car, Gwaine and Will following quickly behind, and Arthur made a turn on the spot in the centre of the lot. Only briefly, however, before he was starting in the direction of a black Lexus, hands slipping casually into the pockets of the jeans Merlin had leaned him and were _incredibly_ distracting for their slightly-too-tightness. Merlin followed after to the sound of Will's, "Well, if this doesn't look sketchy," and pointed head tilt in the direction of the car.

"You've watched too many spy movies, Willy," Gwaine said.

"Only because you make me watch them."

"You love them."

"No I don't." Even Merlin could hear the lie in Will's tone that time.

Leon and – only mildly surprisingly – Percival were stepping from the car. They looked out of place in the minimalistic parking lot, business suits thankfully bereft of the royal colours doing little to hide their exceptional sizes and their very step breathing competency in handling themselves and just about everyone else alongside them. They paused in step as Arthur strode forwards to talk to them. The muttering of their exchange was too quiet for Merlin to make out. He'd paused a respectable distance away; it didn't feel right to eavesdrop.

"Please don't," Will said behind him.

Merlin turned to find him fastening a scowl upon Gwaine. Gwaine himself was pinching his phone from his pocket and offered Merlin and Will both a grin. "Might as well."

"Don't," Will repeated.

"Hey, I've got to take any chance I can get," Gwaine said. "Don't know when I'm going to get the chance to try for their numbers again."

"Never," Will said with an exasperated sigh, folding his arms across his chest. "Just like you'll never see them again even if you do somehow manage to get either of their numbers. They're way out of your league."

Merlin couldn't help but flinch reflexively with Will's words. They seemed to hit just a little close to home, and Merlin had to turn from his friends to hide just how close. He'd never thought of Arthur like that even before he'd met him, not beyond understanding that he was attractive, that he could appreciate that attractiveness, and that he would do so from afar. But what Will had just said…

 _Way out of your league? Most definitely._

Even as friends there was an insurmountable mountain of societal differences that stood between the both of them. Merlin could never climb across that height if he struggled half his life.

Arthur had glanced over his shoulder towards Merlin as he said something to his bodyguards, the two of them nodding in understanding as if to say, "Yes, yes, that makes sense". Merlin wasn't sure what story Arthur was giving them, but he was apparently convincing enough that they didn't suspect him of falsehood. Merlin could read little enough from his expression with the sunglasses on, but he suspected that even without the shades Arthur would be somewhat adept at pulling wool over the eyes of any listener.

A moment later and Arthur was turning and walking back towards Merlin. Towards Merlin specifically, it was apparent. Gwaine clearly thought so too, for with a huff as though mentally prepping himself he muttered a muted, "I'll leave you to it, Merls," and strode towards Leon and Percival. He even clapped Arthur on the shoulder in passing, a gesture far too familiar for their relationship. Arthur only spared him a glance, a slight tightening of his lips, before passing him without a word.

"Oh, fucking hell," Will muttered. He switched a glance between Merlin and Gwaine then back again before huffing his own sigh. "I'll save him before he makes an idiot of himself."

"That's a little hard," Merlin said half-heartedly.

"You're telling me," Will called over his shoulder, shaking his head. Merlin hardly saw it, however, for Arthur had drawn towards him to stop silently barely a step away.

They stared at one another for a long moment, unmoving and unspeaking, until Arthur awkwardly reached up and slipped the sunglasses from his nose. He held them out to Merlin. "Here. Thanks anyway, but this town hardly looked big enough to have a news station to be worried about."

Merlin offered a feeble smile. He felt it fell rather short, but accepted the glasses from Arthur a slight nod of thanks nonetheless. Another pause extended before Merlin found the courage to speak once more. "So, it's all fine? It'll all work out alright?"

He was sure that Arthur saw through his casualness but Arthur didn't comment. Instead he only shrugged in a way that somehow managed to look proper. Was it some particular talent of a prince or simply that Merlin perceived him that way? He wasn't sure. "I'll have to see. As far as I can make out the doppelganger seems to have disappeared. Only time will tell how long that will last, if it does at all."

Merlin nodded. "I can only imagine Nimueh's transformation thingy will cancel itself out at both ends, right? There's probably a frog hopping about claiming he's a prince somewhere in Cardiff right about now."

Arthur gave a muted chuckle. The smile that settled upon his lips was wider than before, and Merlin couldn't help but stare. It was so different. So different from how he'd seen Arthur's smile before. He couldn't tell whether he liked it more or not.

"Yeah, fancy that?" Arthur said. "Who would believe such a thing?"

"Some poor sod that gets roped into helping him, probably," Merlin said teasingly. To his ears the light-heartedness fell flat.

Arthur's smile died slightly. He met Merlin's gaze more fully, eyes flicking between them. "Yeah, probably. Something like that." He paused, then, "Merlin, I haven't actually thanked you, you know."

Merlin shrugged. "No, you haven't. But that's okay. I don't really need gratitude."

"Of course you don't," Arthur said with a knowing shake of his head that Merlin couldn't quite understand the meaning of. "But even so. I am. Grateful, that is. I – Thank you, Merlin."

Merlin offered another shrug. "It's alright. I'm not going to say you'd have done the same for me, but –"

"I wouldn't have," Arthur said. "If it had been me, I wouldn't have."

Merlin smiled. "I know. Good thing it wasn't then, yeah?"

Arthur nodded slowly. He opened his mouth to speak, to say something just as he'd appeared on the verge of saying countless times throughout their trip. Only, just like each time before, he paused and bit his tongue. Instead, Arthur only reached a hand out and to drop on Merlin's shoulder. His fingers were warm, his hand large and squeezing just slightly. "I mean it. Thank you, Merlin. I don't know what I could ever do to repay you."

 _Don't leave just yet_ , flashed across Merlin's mind, but he smothered the thought almost before it was birthed. He didn't even know where such a though had come from but… He shook his head. "I don't need repayment."

"I could have guessed you would say that."

"You know me too well, then."

"Maybe," Arthur said, and for some reason his smile faded further. Merlin didn't know why but found himself scolding his words in mental reprimand nonetheless. Arthur's hand squeezed once more on his shoulder. "If you need anything, though, you'll contact me."

It was less of a question than a demand. Merlin's thoughts were running along the lines of _How?_ and _When?_ and _What for?_ but he didn't say any of that either. Instead, he only nodded. "Sure, Arthur."

There was too much to say. Too much that Merlin wasn't able to say. He wanted to at least give Arthur a hug, but he knew he could never do that. He wanted to tell him to visit, but he didn't. He longed to tell him his thoughts, to say how much he knew he would miss having an annoying chatterbox of a frog hounding his footsteps, but he didn't say that either. Instead, they simply stood in silence for a long moment before Arthur finally slipped his hand from Merlin's shoulder. Then, with two steps backwards, he turned on his heel and started towards the black car waiting for him. Leon and Percival, thoroughly embedded in Gwaine's grasp – though whether by choice or otherwise was unclear – followed after him moments later.

Gwaine and Will retreated alongside Merlin as Arthur, Leon and Percival climbed into the car. Gwaine looked thoroughly pleased with himself and Merlin didn't need the self-satisfied, "I told you I could do it. I'll take my winnings, thank you, Willy," or Will's, "We didn't even make a bet", to know the outcome of his endeavour.

Merlin hardly heard them. His attention was locked on the car as it idled for a moment before pulling out from its spot, easing from the parking lot and onto the empty, quiet roads. Merlin couldn't see inside, couldn't make out even the shape of Arthur's head through the tinted windows, but he stared anyway.

He stared until the car took itself away, disappearing around the corner, and then he stared a little more. Finally, with an inward sigh and not even bothering with a call to attention to his friends, Merlin turned and started back towards his own car.

Well. That was the end of that.


	9. Chapter 9 - The Struggle of a New Form

**Chapter 9: The Struggle of a New Form**

 _Crap!_

Merlin nearly tumbled head over heels down the stairwell and only just managed to retain his footing with a frantic grasp of the bannister. It was a near thing, and he could have sworn that said bannister squealed a protest as he nearly detached it from its post, but at least he didn't fall on his face.

"Are you alright?" Hunith's voice called from the direction of the kitchen.

Merlin sighed as he straightened, stepping slowly down the last few steps and rubbing his eyes with both palms. He knew he was about as clumsy as a newborn colt half of the time but his tiredness likely wasn't helping his coordination any. "Yeah, I'm fine," he replied.

Passing into the kitchen and starting straight for the toaster, Merlin offered his mother a brief smile before setting about getting his breakfast. Only to turn quickly away from her when he saw the subdued, almost concerned expression upon her face. Hunith had been wearing that expression too often of late; Merlin didn't like it and felt decidedly guilty with the knowledge that he was responsible for inducing it. He shouldn't be making his mother so upset.

"Are you alright?" Hunith asked once more from behind him.

Merlin knew she wasn't talking about the slip. To genuinely worry about every time he nearly tripped over would be an exhausting and thankless practice; Merlin doubted he'd ever quite be able to walk down his own stairs without wavering slightly. No, Hunith asked for another reason entirely, even if she never quite stated as much.

Merlin didn't turn towards her as he shrugged, turning to the fridge in search of spreads. "Yeah, I'm fine, Mum."

Hunith was silent for a moment. A long moment, in which his toast popped and he proceeded to compile a hasty breakfast. She continued as he tucked the spreads back into the fridge. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Merlin paused, glancing at his mother sidelong and biting back the now-familiar unease that welled within him in an instant. Did he want to talk about it? No. No, he most certainly did not. Nearly a month he and his mother had been playing this game, tiptoeing and dancing around one another. It wasn't getting them anywhere and apparently Hunith had decided as much and further decided to do something about it.

Merlin hadn't. Merlin certainly didn't want to talk about it, not even to his mother.

Adopting a smile that he was sure didn't fool Hunith for a second, Merlin shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Really. There's no problem."

"Merlin," Hunith began, but Merlin interrupted her as he turned and picked up his hastily compiled sandwich.

"It's really fine, Mum. There's nothing to talk about." He stepped forwards and planted a brief kiss on her cheek before stepping away and starting from the kitchen. "I'm really sorry, but I've got to head off early today. I'm seeing one of the professors before class."

It was a lie and Merlin knew that Hunith knew it too. He was only grateful that she didn't comment as he hastened back out of the room, made a quick snatch his his bags and laptop that he'd abandoned in the hallway, and started from the house. He was grateful, yet at the same time guilty; he shouldn't be abandoning his mother like that. They'd always shared breakfast together.

Or at least they always had until recently.

Right now, Merlin felt smothered. Not necessarily by his mother but by the situation at large. Everything was too tight, too constricting, and in a way more profound that he'd ever felt it, Merlin was struck with the need to _move_. To do something, to step from his familiar, slow and comfortable paces and seek change. He didn't want to leave home, didn't want to leave his mother, but the urge was still there. Merlin needed a change, needed something to happen, and he knew Hunith saw that.

Just as she had also seen the root cause of that need, had identified it likely before Merlin had himself.

Merlin was twitchy. He needed something, some change, a distraction even. And the cause for that need lay in the fact that it had been nearly a month Arthur that had been gone.

It was almost surprising how much Merlin had come to rely upon his simple presence. To unconsciously rely, without even knowing he was doing it. He hadn't realised how much he'd accommodated the presence of a chatty frog in his life, how much he'd come to enjoy the conversations they'd shared as he'd worked and the questions Arthur had asked that grew more and more sincere in their curiosity as the weeks passed. Merlin would have thought that such changes, such acceptance of Arthur's presence as the norm, would have been just as naturally reversible.

It wasn't.

The crux of it was that Merlin missed Arthur. He missed him more than he could have anticipated, and he didn't know what to do about it.

Will suggested he take a trip somewhere. Gwaine urged him to accompany him on his chronic party-going marathons. His mother even sent him on long, hard runs with the horses every other afternoon in an effort to blow off some steam, though whether for Merlin or solely for the horses he wasn't quite sure.

But Merlin didn't have any place he particularly wanted to trip to, and it wasn't like he was going to leave his mother to take one. Maybe he should accompany Gwaine to his parties, or the idle night drinking at the uni-bar, maybe even meet someone for it had really been a long time since he'd considered looking for a new boyfriend. But Merlin didn't particularly want any of that either. And he _was_ taking Hunith up on her suggestion, spent almost every afternoon when he got back from uni thundering across the estate, the increasingly cold air snapping in tangible slaps across his cheeks.

But it didn't help. It didn't do anything but tire both himself and the horses out for a brief moment. Even that respite didn't really distract him. Not from his thoughts and his admittedly pathetic pining for someone who didn't exist anymore.

No, he did exist. _Arthur_ existed. He just wasn't exactly the way Merlin had known him and, more importantly, he'd grown out of needing Merlin. That was the whole of it. Arthur didn't need Merlin anymore, so he wasn't here. That knowledge hurt more than any of it.

Just like every day when he had lectures or tutes, Merlin took the hour's drive to the university and turned into the little backstreet a short walk from the central hub that he knew always had parking spots. It was something of a hidden retreat that not everyone knew about, and Merlin had stumbled upon it – quite literally stumbled – in his second week in attendance. It had been something of a saving grace for him, for Gwaine too who had professed his 'eternal thanks' for showing him such convenient availability. Merlin set himself into a spot, slung his bags over his shoulder, and started towards the hub.

He was early. His excuse to leave had made him early, but it was early _again_ , so Merlin was more than used to being so. He'd spent more than enough time chewing through textbooks and lecture notes in the relative quiet of the uni café, sipping a cup of tea and wiling away the hours until his classes. When Gwaine had discovered he arrived at such an 'abominable hour' as he called it, he'd actually made an effort to come and join him, more often than not dragging some of his college frat friends along with him. Merlin didn't usually get all that much study done when Gwaine showed up.

Stepping into the café, Merlin cast a quick scan around the room to have his gaze settle upon a familiar figure. She was bowed over her laptop, hair pulled back from her face in a tight half up-do and the cup of coffee in her hands almost bigger than she was. She was frowning at her screen as though frustrated at what she saw, a typical expression for her. Eira was always somewhat frustrated with the world at large.

"Morning, Eira," he said as he approached her table with a smile. "Mind if I join you?"

Eira glanced up from her computer, blinking owlishly for a moment before nodding shortly and turning back to her computer. "Hello, Merlin. And no, suit yourself."

Eira was a Law student, initially simply a friend of Gwaine's but, since they'd ben together and subsequently broken up, had become a sort-of friend to Merlin. Really, Merlin couldn't quite understand why Gwaine had gotten with her in the first place; there wasn't anything outstandingly aversive about her character or anything but she was certainly something of his polar opposite. Eira was straight-laced, generally sombre and entirely studious. While Gwaine possessed natural intelligence and social dexterity, Eira was the definitive dedicated student. In the short time they'd been dating, Gwaine had told Merlin on more that one occasion how she'd shaken her head over the idea that he'd come from an arts degree. As Merlin heard it, Gwaine's indignation for her condescension was one of several reasons they'd broken up.

Amicably, of course, because Gwaine didn't do bad break-ups. Since then, and in more recent weeks, Merlin had become something of a casual studying companion to Eira. They didn't have much in common either, almost as little as Eira had shared with Gwaine, but they both found themselves in the café in the early mornings of late. It was comfortable to sit alongside someone else and simply study.

Which they did, for all of about half an hour. Half an hour was all the peace they had until Gwaine arrived, and brought with him a torrent of noise. How four people could make such a ruckus was a mystery to Merlin, but it was certainly impossible to miss the arrival of Gwaine, Pellinor, Tristan and Isolde.

"Ah, Merlin!" Gwaine called across the café as soon as he stepped through the doors. "I knew you'd be here."

"What gave me away?" Merlin said, sparing a small smile for his friend. "Was it the fact that I've done exactly the same thing every Friday for the past four weeks?"

Gwaine grinned, slumping into the chair alongside Merlin with another flashed in Eira's direction. Eira barely spared him a glance from her laptop before diving back into her studies; amiable though they were with one another, their differences were never more profound than ever now that they'd broken up. "Yeah, might have something to do with that," Gwaine agreed.

"How's it going, Merlin?" Pellinor asked from Merlin's other side as he slumped into the seat. Before he received a reply, he gestured towards the tome that Merlin had splayed open on the table. "Why you lug that massive book around with you every day I'll never know."

"Probably has something to do with him needing it for school," Gwaine suggested with a smirk.

"I think I'd wing it if it was me," Pellinor replied.

"Yeah, but you're hardly a model student," Isolde said, wedging herself onto the seat beside Tristan. The two of them were practically joined at the hip and no one even bothered to suggest that they go and get another chair rather than struggle to share. They wouldn't take the suggestion to heart anyway.

"I'm an impeccable student," Pellinor corrected, raising a finger alongside an eyebrow. "You know I passed all my units last semester."

"Oh, congratulations to you for that," Tristan said with a teasing smile. "Is that because you actually studied this time?"

"Mm, he roped me into teaching him Micro," Eira murmured distractedly at her laptop.

Isolde spared Eira a questioning frown. "Why were _you_ tutoring him in Microeconomics?"

"I did it last year."

Isolde paused, before repeating, "So why were _you_ tutoring him in Microeconomics?"

"That was probably when she went through her phase of wanting to do business-law, am I right, Eira?" Gwaine said. Eira only nodded with a shrug before deliberately sitting forwards in her seat and tapping rapidly on her computer. Gwaine overlooked her dismissal. "She's a whizz at economics. Sad but true that she's dropped that major."

Merlin listened with half an ear as his friends fell into comfortable conversation. They were easy with one another and Merlin enjoyed their company. It didn't bother him that they were a distraction from his studies; he'd spent enough early mornings at the university, both with and without Eira's parallel studying, to be well ahead in his readings.

Still, he wasn't really listening as Pellinor professed how Macroeconomics was 'just as hard as Micro, and now I don't have Eira to help me through it either', how Tristan and Isolde had an almost-argument about who was going to get them both a coffee – of the generous kind, naturally, with both insisting that they be the one to do so – and Gwaine attempting to draw Eira's attention from her laptop. He looked more like a little boy with a stick prodding an ant's nest than someone who sought deep conversation.

At least, Merlin was only half listening until he heard Arthur's name. Quite without his intention he raised his head and turned towards where Pellinor was scrolling through something on his phone, Isolde peering over his shoulder. "What was that?" Merlin asked before he could help himself.

Pellinor glanced towards him, waving his phone indicatively. "Just that new interview from the King's consultancy thingo. The prince took it."

"Did he botch it up?" Eira asked distractedly, once more not even bothering to look up from her keyboard. Merlin had the irrational urge to growl at her, both for her nonchalance and the comment itself. True, Arthur was a prat, had been very much a prat in the past, but he was still…

"No, he ran rings around them," Pellinor said with a grin.

"Doesn't he always?" Isolde asked, leaning further over Pellinor's shoulder to squint at his phone as though reading minute text. "Running them into the ground and making them look like idiots is sort of his forte."

Merlin tucked his chin to his chest, turning towards his textbook and pretending to ignore the conversation. Not that he actually read a thing; the words seemed to blur before his eyes. Merlin could feel Gwaine's gaze settle upon him but didn't glance up, not even when Pellinor sighed at Isolde's words and educated her on how Arthur had apparently 'taken a turn' and though he was still a bit of an arrogant prick he appeared to have screwed his head on just a little straighter than was his usual.

Merlin knew about that. He knew about Arthur's apparent 'straightening out' in the past month, something that no one could apparently comprehend and Merlin was just slightly less baffled for. He could suspect, of course, could assume what had changed, because he'd seen it happening on a very personal level. Merlin recalled very vividly how Arthur had been nothing but an objectionable, demanding and entitled prat the first time he'd met him, and it was probably only because Merlin had particular sympathy for animals that he'd spared him a second thought for his rudeness at all.

But that had changed. In the months that they'd spent together, in the months that Arthur had followed behind Merlin in such a way that it seemed less like he was following and more that he simply happened to be heading in the same direction as Merlin, he'd changed. Slowly, incrementally, but over time distinctly. Arthur was still arrogant. He was still entitled and still seemed to struggle at times to make polite requests rather than demands. But he'd been changing, and his attitude, his spoilt prince act as Merlin considered it, seemed to become one more of tongue-in-cheek posturing than automatic behaviour. Arthur had admitted he was a bit on the spoilt side to Merlin on later occasions, if not in so many words.

Merlin had seen the change. He'd seen it, though admittedly hadn't fully registered it at the time; it simply became that Arthur was in his company, and that company wasn't as aversive as it could have been. That it was growing less antagonistic and more comfortable, as it would likely have initially been had Merlin not found it so amusing. But in hindsight it was apparent. When Merlin had met Arthur as a man, when he'd spoken to him with every ounce of his awkwardness because it was so unhinging to simply see _his_ version of Arthur as anything but a frog, it had been to register that. The Arthur he'd met… he wasn't the same as the prince Merlin had been carelessly aware of from his mother's papers, from the pictures and reprimanding stories that appeared on his news feed via social media whether he wanted to see them or not.

That Arthur was different. He seemed almost mellowed now. Was it possible to consider someone nicer, more approachable, _better_ , when Merlin hadn't known his original character on any kind of personal level?

Quite without being aware he was doing it, Merlin had been following Arthur. Or at least following in as much of a wistful and tentative manner that the internet would allow. There wasn't anything particularly profound in his behaviour, nothing obsessive or judgemental. Merlin found that he simply wanted to know.

That was how he'd already been aware of the supposed change that Pellinor spoke of. How he'd already known that Arthur had apparently 'taken a turn' with such abruptness that the media and paparazzi that scavenged for every one of the prince's incriminating stories were left floundering. It was so sudden, so unexpected and so suddenly and entirely different to his norm, that they appeared unsure of how to approach this 'new prince'.

Arthur wasn't exceptionally kinder to the public. He wasn't excessively generous with his interviews, or allowing of his pictures to be taken with anything less than a flat stare or visible exasperation. In the interviews that still flowed through the news on a regular basis, he was still mouthy, opinionated and at times tactlessly blunt, just as Merlin recalled from when he'd first met him as a frog.

But at the same time, things _had_ changed. Arthur was less openly dismissive of those who approached him, even if he wasn't especially kind. He treated his interviews with more formality and less disdainful dismissiveness. He still attended parties, still went out for drinks with his friends, but such behaviour had abruptly stunted to moderation. There were none of the infamous staggering and drunken snapshots of him in compromising positions, and though pictures of the prince alongside an array of men and women continued to flow, they were far removed from those that used to appear on a frequent basis.

Still, Merlin was more than aware of the slight tightness that twinged in his chest whenever he saw those pictures. He wasn't jealous, for jealous would insinuate the desire for something that he'd once had. Merlin knew he'd never had _that_ with Arthur, nothing more of a friendship that had been practically forced upon Arthur by circumstance. The prospect would have been disturbing to consider given that he'd been a frog. But even so, that tightness remained.

More than that, though, more than simply pulling his head in and finally apparently reaching the end of his frenzy of back-to-back nights of revelry, Prince Arthur had stepped up his act. By all reports he had apparently taken a turn for the more committed in his father's business, and even after such a short time his actions were publically apparent. Despite attempting to read up on it, Merlin knew next to nothing about political consultancy and only a little more about judiciary, but that alteration was evident. Arthur had changed, and he was changing the business of which he was VP along with it. For the better, too, to hear word of it.

Merlin didn't listen as Pellinor and Isolde – and Tristan when he returned with the coffee – continued their exchange, nattering away about Arthur with the subjective detachment of those who didn't know him and never would know him. Merlin had been forced through the struggle of not rising to Arthur's defence, of not pointing out the truth behind the matter those around him spoke of so carelessly and that they _didn't know_ that beneath his pomp and stuck-up royal act Arthur was a person. A _good_ person who was just trying to live his own life the way the rest of the world was entitled to, despite being born as a prince where such was unacceptable.

He didn't, though. Merlin didn't speak, no matter how he longed to. It would only make him feel worse about the situation.

Instead he rose from his seat with a wave of farewell to his friends as nine o'clock struck, slinging his bags and laptop into his arms and offering a slightly strained laugh as Pellinor commiserated once more about the size of his textbook. He smile slipped almost immediately as he stepped from the café to head to his morning lecture, however, bowing his head and letting his feet lead him in the direction they knew so well. Only to pause as Gwaine called in his wake.

"Hey, Merls!"

Merlin glanced towards him as Gwaine jogged to his side, half turning and offering a small smile. "What's up?"

Gwaine stared at him for a moment as he paused at his side, eyes flickering between Merlin's. He sucked a tooth for a second as though in consideration before speaking. "You alright?"

Merlin blinked blankly. What was this today? Was there a sign hanging over his head or something saying 'I'm pathetic, please pity me'? First his mother and now Gwaine. Did he really look that miserable? He didn't feel exceptionally sad. No more ponderous than usual, anyway. He shrugged. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"

Gwaine pursed his lips sceptically as he jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Wasn't sure if you were upset or whatever about what Pel and Isolde were saying."

It was a bit of a struggle to keep his smile on his face, but Merlin managed as he shook his head. "I honestly wasn't really listening to what they were saying," he said, though from the expression on Gwaine's face he didn't believe him for a moment.

Still, he gave Merlin the courtesy of nodding and at least pretending to believe him. "Yeah, alright. But still…" He trailed off and pinned Merlin with the same sceptical stare he'd worn before. "Do you want to, I don't know, maybe call him or something?"

Merlin felt his eyebrows rise incredulously. "What, call Prince Arthur?"

"Yeah, Arthur," Gwaine said, very deliberately dropping his title.

Merlin cracked a renewed smile. This one was even harder than the first. "Gwaine, why the hell would I give the prince a call? Not only that, but I wouldn't even know how to get in contact with him."

He wished he'd bitten his tongue the moment his words were out of his mouth. They sounded too much like he'd already considered the situation. Which he had. Numerous times Merlin had thought about getting in contact with Arthur somehow. He'd discarded each notion almost immediately.

Gwaine didn't pull him up on his slip, which was somewhat uncharacteristic of him. Was he coddling Merlin? For some reason that annoyed him just a little, but he thrust the thought aside as Gwaine continued. "Firstly, you were basically bosom pals for two whole months, Merlin."

"Bosom pals?" Merlin snorted, shaking his head.

"And secondly," Gwaine said, ignoring him but to quirk his lips in the beginning of a smile, "I could probably get you his number. I'm pretty talented you know."

Merlin stared at him. Far from being amused, he was suddenly truly annoyed. Was Gwaine seriously teasing him about this? That was – that was _not right_. Not at the moment. Merlin didn't think he could handle that right now, even if he denied admitting anything was wrong. He felt a scowl touch his face in place of a smile. "Stop taking the piss, Gwaine. Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell –?"

"I'm serious," Gwaine interrupted him, and his own smile disappeared. He did indeed look very serious all of a sudden. "I could. You know I've got Leon's and Percival's numbers, right?"

Merlin felt his scowl die. Not entirely unexpectedly, either, for he wasn't really one to get angry, nor even particularly vexed. "You actually talk to them?"

Gwaine did offer a small smile at that, a small, smug little uptilt of his lips. "Yeah, you could say that."

"You see them? Wait, you mean you're actually –?"

"Much to my regret, no," Gwaine said with a sigh. At Merlin's raised eyebrow once more he corrected himself. "I mean I haven't seen them. Would still like to, you know, but yeah. Not yet. We text."

Merlin shook his head incredulously. "Only you would have a casual texting relationship with the two bodyguards of the Prince of Wales."

"They're actually as much his friends as his bodyguards," Gwaine said easily. "Or at least apparently. How sad is that, right? That Arthur had to rope his friends into that job? Or was it the other way around? You reckon he made friends with his bodyguards? Although, I couldn't imagine Arthur really trying to make friends with anyone…"

He trailed off thoughtfully, and Merlin couldn't help but agree with him at least a little. It _was_ kind of sad, if Arthur's two best friends were also his bodyguards. Merlin hadn't asked him too much about his friends in general, but Arthur had spoken enough about Leon and Percival of his own desire for Merlin to know he was fond of them. Fond of them as though he truly were friends with them. From what Merlin could discern, Arthur had few enough actual friends. That was probably the saddest part.

"I can't believe you've actually kept in contact with them," Merlin said, a smile drawing across his lips once more in an attempt at light-heartedness. He shook his head, smirking as Gwaine rolled his eyes before his grin widened in turn. "Keep 'em keen, Gwaine."

"Well, that's the idea."

"Which one of them do you actually even fancy?"

Gwaine raised a very pointed eyebrow. "Merlin," he said deliberately, as though speaking to a simpleton. "Have you seen them? I couldn't give a fuck which one at this point. Id quite happily take both."

Merlin could only laugh, shaking his head and turning away from Gwaine to continue walking. He didn't stop even when Gwaine called after him with, "Merlin, I mean it. The offers there and I'll give either one of them a message straight away. Just say the word."

"Thanks anyway, Gwaine," Merlin called in reply, glancing over his shoulder and offering a smile. "But no thanks. It's fine."

Gwaine's own grin had faded. "Merls, I think it would be a good idea to call him."

"It's fine, Gwaine," Merlin repeated, before turning away once more and ending that train of thought as he strode across campus. He very deliberately ignored the whining voice in the back of his mind that berated him for not taking Gwaine up on his offer.

But he wouldn't. He couldn't. Arthur had his own life, everything going on with _him_ , and that life was entirely removed from Merlin's. Even if they only remained as friends… Merlin wasn't sure where he fit in Arthur's life.

A prince was way out of his league anyway.

* * *

Arthur frowned at the report, head bowed over the sheaf of papers as he ran his eyes in a rapid scan down the page before flipping to the next. Really, he didn't understand why half of the higher ups of the company still insisted upon using paper. It was both more efficient and more sustainable to simply send emails, and given that sustainability was something that, following a conversation Arthur had shared with his father, they were attempting to promote, it both baffled and frustrated him.

Sighing, Arthur flipped through the next few pages idly before lowering them to his desk and leaning back in his seat. He raised a hand to squeeze his fingers to the bridge of his nose in an attempt to relieve the headache that was growing behind his eyes, but it did little good. He was tired, and the back-to-back meetings of the day had wrung him out like an old dishcloth. He would likely be asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow that night.

Not that Arthur could complain for that eventuality. It was better than lying awake in thought as he'd tended to do of late.

Arthur had effectively become the prodigal son in recent weeks. Or as good as, in his opinion, though he knew people still complained. They would always complain. It wasn't intentional, of course, and it wasn't because he'd decided on a change of face. Arthur still didn't care all that much what the world thought of him, didn't care that he was a prince that was supposed to put on a respectable front. It was more that simply…

Arthur had always been one to do what he wanted, whether that was to take himself for a spontaneous road trip – or flight, as it may be – of a weekend or to closet himself in his house and speak to absolutely no one for an entire day. To go out late, to party with people he barely considered friends and get so drunk he could barely remember his own name let alone anyone else's. That had been his nights, and a good portion of his mornings too, since Arthur had turned eighteen. True, such had fluctuated mildly under his father's reprimand and Arthur's grumbling adherence to renewed ultimatums, or in response to his preferences when he simply couldn't abide the clamouring masses whose company he took. Overall, however, Arthur had enjoyed it. It had been as much a show of independence for the past eight years as anything, and that was one of the main reasons Arthur continued to do so.

He'd known it was growing tiresome in the past months, or at least the months before he'd become a frog. Arthur had known on an unconscious level that he there were nights he simply didn't want to partake but forced himself to anyway. Because it was a show, and despite Arthur resolutely refusing to dance to anyone's tune, he realised that he somehow sort of was.

Not that it stopped him. He stuck at it anyway. It just irked slightly to acknowledge.

Now, however, he just couldn't find the urge. He didn't want to spend hours out at a club, downing his body weight in alcohol and losing himself to the music with the knowledge that the extra security his father demanded accompany him would have his back. He couldn't find the bother to call up a list of people who would jump at the chance to tag along, to drag a crowd of fellow pleasure-seekers in his wake. Just like he didn't feel the urge to pick up any woman or, on the less frequent occasion, man who were keen for the show.

That was when Arthur knew that something in him had changed quite without him realising it. He didn't _want_ practically anyone's company, and he hardly needed to think to know the one person whose companionship he did want.

That was the whole of it. Arthur missed Merlin. He missed him in a way he hadn't anticipated, as he'd never missed anyone before. Arthur didn't like people, with perhaps the exception of Leon and Percival. He didn't even like his sister terribly much, who was a bloody cow even on a good day though no one else seemed to realise, and his father hadn't looked at him with anything but faint despair and resignation for years now. Or at least he hadn't until recently. That had changed too.

But that was it. Arthur missed Merlin, actually missed him for his inane chatter and his incessant smile that didn't wash away even on a rainy day. He missed his endless surplus of energy and enthusiasm he had for absolutely everything, for life in general even if it was a simple one. He missed the way it had become so _easy_ with him. Just being with him was… it was comfortable.

Arthur hadn't realised he lacked even a portion of that kind of comfort until he'd experienced it.

Not for the first time Arthur regretted that he hadn't said something more to Merlin before he'd left. That he hadn't asked for his phone number even, if not to come and visit. But somehow it hadn't felt right. Merlin had been wary, so unnerved by the entire situation – almost as much as Arthur was – that he couldn't push for that. He didn't know how he would handle it if Merlin told him no, if he withdrew that prospect. Given Merlin's character, it was unlikely that he would withhold the offer, but Arthur wasn't sure if it would be better or worse if he allowed it when he really, really didn't want Arthur around.

Arthur fell into his work as an outlet. It was frustrating because most of the people at the company were bumbling idiots, but he managed anyway. And yes, something had even changed there, too. For bumbling idiots that many of them – mostly the higher ups – were, Arthur couldn't help but be put in mind of the stable hands at Merlin's house. Of how they'd put their back into everything with such effort yet fluid practice that he hadn't even noticed just how hard they worked until he really, truly looked. When he did, he noticed, and that filter – or perhaps the lifting of that veil – somehow transferred to Pendragon & Co.

That receptionist at the front desk of Arthur's floor that kept her head down most of the day? Her fingers barely stopped typing for a second throughout the day, such was the efficiency of her motions. She chewed through her work without complaint yet though she was of an inferior station to Arthur's own she worked bloody hard.

Lousie Wells from the fifth floor spent her entire day climbing between the levels and dispensing letters and administration packages – those unfortunately still of paper – and barely paused for a lunch break. Her efforts were even more remarkable considering Arthur couldn't comprehend how she managed to walk in those shoes.

Arthur's PA, Owain, who Arthur had always seen as a stuttering fool, appeared far from it when Arthur actually observed him without his knowledge. Not only was he more capable when Arthur gave him his head, but he was remarkably adept at persuasion from what Arthur had overheard from him on the phone, seeming to have a natural charm that he lacked in a show of cowing when he faced Arthur.

Even the little things – the coffee that waited on Arthur's table in the morning for when he got in, always still hot, the mess that vanished from the photocopying room several floors down that Arthur had begun to noticed in passing, the interns that positively vibrated with energy – each of them Arthur had never noticed, never taken the time to appreciate, but he for whatever reason suddenly perceived. It even appeared to his eyes, to his newly unveiled eyes, that those of a lesser position, those Arthur had always unconsciously deemed his inferiors, worked all the harder for their lower position. Certainly harder than some of the partners that Arthur had only just left in his last meeting less than an hour before.

For the first time in what could have been his entire life, Arthur felt humbled. It was almost a struggle to attempt to appear as though he wasn't disconcerted by what he'd overlooked. The realisation was only made worse by the passing thought that "Merlin probably would have noticed" that abruptly wouldn't leave him alone.

Arthur knew what the news was saying. He knew that his unconscious shift in behaviour, a shift that he couldn't help but fall prey to and barely even realised unless he really thought about it, hadn't gone unnoticed. He saw the headlines, that 'The Prince Finally Cleaned Up His Act?', and "Pendragon & Co. Benefits from an Active VP for the First Time', but he ignored them. He had to ignore them, for otherwise the urge to spit in the face of every reporter he saw, to seethe at the assumptions and the smug satisfaction that he had _finally_ supposedly changed for the better, would overwhelm him. He was simply so frustrated of late.

Arthur didn't think he was acting any nicer, but apparently the rest of the world thought as much. He certainly didn't feel happier. Instead, it was as though something very distinct was… missing.

He'd be an idiot not to realise what it was.

With a sigh, Arthur dropped his hand from his face and down towards the papers before him. He blinked at the page it had fallen open on, then frowned and clicked his tongue. Fucking Warren. If he was going to mention the Harvard v. Hurley Inc. case then he could at least do it properly. Was everything he did always so half-arsed? Arthur had registered that he'd overlooked the hard work of many of the employees at his father's company – at _his_ company – but some…

Fucking Harold Warren. He'd climbed about as high as he could without sitting in Arthur's own seat. Arthur sorely wished he could get rid of the old man; he was out-dated and the typical bumbling partner of the firm. Just the sort of person Arthur had looked down upon with a roll of his eyes and would continue to do because that opinion at least was entirely justified.

Rising to his feet, Arthur gathered the clutch of papers and started across the room. His office was almost the size of a small flat in itself; widespread, minimalistic, absented of clutter and sparsely furnished but for the wide desk and the monitor consuming half of the wall for if Arthur needed to conduct a private teleconference. Arthur barely considered it anymore, but to think that it was perhaps a little too bare. He'd never been one to like clutter, but the lack of personalisation felt somehow wrong all of a sudden.

Arthur had never much liked any sort of personalisation until he'd experienced it for himself. Until he'd realised how much of a difference memorabilia could make to a room.

Striding from his office with quick steps, Arthur nodded briefly to Owain through the door into his own office. Owain offered a nod of recognition in reply as he spoke to someone on the phone. He didn't flinch as much when Arthur looked in his direction anymore, which Arthur supposed was a good thing. Several other people still did, but Arthur didn't think it was his imagination that they were fewer than they had been.

Maybe he really was nicer? What a ridiculous and unnecessary development.

Arthur strode down the hallway in the direction of the elevator, skirting past men in business suits and women in pin-skirts or pantsuits. The offices of the top floor of Pendragon & Co.'s London site was sleek and refined, even more so than that in Cardiff for it's modernity being a few years younger. The murmur of conversation was muted, the air thick with focus as everyone went about their tasks. Or at least they appeared to. Arthur was under no illusions that, given it was already mid-afternoon, many of the seemingly intent conversations being exchanges by colleagues pertained less to work than they perhaps should.

But who was Arthur to judge, really? True, he would set about firing anyone who dared slump and drag the company down with them, even infinitesimally, but he couldn't exactly accuse them of their behaviour. He was almost the same – or at least he had been the same until recently

Yes, maybe he had changed.

Arthur stepped into the elevator alongside a woman with plump cheeks and a short bob who he couldn't recall but by face. She nodded respectfully towards him as they descended, all but ignoring him as Arthur ignored her in turn in favour of flipping through Warren's report and scanning it for further slip ups. They probably weren't even his own. He'd probably told his PA to write it up in the first place, which Arthur didn't agree with. He'd never agreed with that, even at his laziest. In this case at least, it should be _Warren_ that put in the work, just as it was Arthur who did so for his own specific reports. He would never think about sending anything to his father the CEO that hadn't been typed by his own fingers.

The elevator pinged open and the woman alongside him stepped out, only to be replaced by another a moment later. Arthur spared a glance for her before resolutely turning back to the reports when his sister affixed him with her attention.

Morgana, however, was never one to be overlooked. "You look to be in a particularly favourable mood at present, Arthur," she said, and Arthur could hear the amusement in her voice even as he knew without looking that she hadn't even cracked a smile.

Arthur flicked onto the next page, drawing his eyes down the minute writing. It was too small. He'd have to talk to Warren about that, too. "Exceptional, Morgana," he said flatly.

"As I've noticed frequently of you of late. Are you ready to tell me about it yet?"

Arthur did glance at his sister this time, sparing her a sidelong stare. Morgana stared right back, her gaze hooded behind the thin glasses perched atop her nose, lips set in a way that anyone with an ounce of sense would realise meant she wouldn't stand for any objection. Ever.

Morgana was a beautiful woman. Even knowing that she was his half sister – an uncharacteristic scandal of the king's that had long been left in the dust – he could recognise that. She stood tall and straight, chin slightly raised and dark hair falling in perfect curls over her shoulders as though she'd sat in front of the mirror before leaving her own office on the consultancy floor moments before. She was equally capable of captivating with a glance, a slight widening of the eyes and a touch of a smile, as she was of intimidating with nothing but a stare. Arthur had personally never been intimidated but he knew it happened. He'd seen it on more occasions than one.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Arthur said, stepping from the elevator as it opened on the twelfth floor. Morgana followed right after him and for the life of him Arthur didn't know if she followed him specifically or if she truly needed to be there. It was difficult to discern with Morgana at times; she went where she wanted exactly when she wanted, and damn anyone who thought to tell her to do otherwise. Quite apart from Arthur's own reputation for doing just that, however, Morgana received accolades with every step she took, encouragement for her bull-headedness. Arthur would have accused her and the world of double standards except, well… Morgana's choices and assertiveness were usually for the bettering of the company and the country. Arthur couldn't really blame the world for supporting her in her endeavours.

Morgana sighed loudly as she stepped up alongside him as opposed to behind. Never let it be said that Arthur's sister would accept anything less than equal standing. "You're still playing oblivious, are you?"

"You're clearly perceiving something that's not there," Arthur replied, resolutely keeping his eyes upon Warren's reports as he made his way through the veritable network of hallways and offices. He'd never liked the configuration of the twelfth floor.

"I'm hardly foolish enough to see something that isn't there, Arthur."

"And yet you appear to have."

"I know you better than anyone else in the world. If I can perceive something as problematic in you then it's there."

Arthur slowed in step, turning towards Morgana as she paused alongside him. She'd verbally attacked him with her alternative kind of care more times than he could count over the past month, hard love radiating from her sharp tongue. Arthur knew her claim to be correct. Morgana _did_ know him well, possibly better than anyone else in the world, and she'd always been one to look out for him. The combined role of older sister and pseudo-mother didn't seem capable of being discarded after so many years of assuming that role. He found her annoying, even admitted he hardly liked her, but that much he would credit her with.

Morgana saw, and she knew something was wrong. Sometimes uncannily knew, too, for Arthur had always considered her far too perceptive for his situation. It was as though she sometimes just seemed to _know_ , without any possible way of obtaining such information. How she'd known Arthur had been up in Aberystwyth – she'd confronted him about it the day after his return – was a mystery to him. Arthur had expressly requested that Leon and Percival hold their tongues on the matter.

They hadn't told anyone. Arthur knew they hadn't; he could and had trusted the both of them with countless secrets and sensitive topics in the past. Morgana had ways of finding things out that Arthur had never understood, was weirdly observant almost to his detriment. She'd been the one to perceive that Arthur had never liked Nimueh, despite that keeping such dislike hidden from her in deference to his mother was one of the few fronts Arthur had ever maintained. She'd been the one to hash out in blunt, tactless words just why Arthur had acting the way he had during high school, detailing the cause for his rebellion. Thankfully, such had been voiced in the privacy of their own two ears so Arthur didn't need to worry about his father finding out. She even seemed to know the vague sentiment of his mother's final words, though Arthur had never told her.

And Morgana had been the one to first confront him when he'd returned to claim that something was different about him. That he was acting differently to how he had the previous two months which, in her opinion and carelessly voiced, had been different again to his normal behaviour. Arthur didn't deny that he was taut with concern throughout the entirety of the first week of his return; slipping back into his usual duties with the knowledge of how much he'd missed and how much he could be called out on was unexpectedly stressful, and any thought of the suddenly vanished doppelganger set his teeth on edge. Fucking magic. He tried to avoid thinking about that as much as he could, reluctant to consider the impossible on any plane of existence. It was a struggle but he'd managed, both to ignore the very real possibility of _magic_ and to ease back into his workplace.

Morgana had noticed, however. She'd noticed and called him out upon it, identifying things about his behaviour that Arthur hadn't even noticed, hadn't paid a second of attention to, and voiced wild claims as to why such had occurred. She'd even speculated that he'd met someone, which had stuttered Arthur to a physical halt when she'd spoken with utter certainty and satisfaction.

It was almost supernatural, her capabilities, which… given what Arthur had experienced in the past months wasn't as far-fetched as it should have been. Arthur resolutely didn't think about that either. Magic was… other. It felt like it _shouldn't_ be pursued, least of all by Arthur himself. He didn't want to think about magic, or Nimueh, or any of it at all. Even if he had taken a deliberate effort to tracking Nimueh down.

All for nothing, of course, for she'd disappeared as though vanquished, but Arthur had tried.

Morgana was talking, was saying something that Arthur was listening to with only half an ear as he turned and picked up his pace once more. Only to stumble – to actually stumble – to a halt at a particularly sharp and pointed question. "Are you going to tell me about you and a frog situation?"

Arthur swung towards her, wide-eyed and blinking rapidly. He prided himself upon the fact that few things startled him, and they truly didn't, but he was very definitely startled in that moment. "What?"

A small smile of satisfaction touched Morgana's lips as she folded her arms across her chest, tucking the tablet she held tightly and tipping her head slightly. "Correct?"

"I… have no idea what you're talking about," Arthur said, though he didn't even sound convincing to his own ears.

Morgana arched an eyebrow. "Really?" There was condescension in her tone. "Because my speculation – speculation as it is – is that whatever a frog has to do with something also has something to do with the person you keep thinking about all the time."

Arthur blinked and stared some more. For a long moment he couldn't reply. How the hell had Morgana reached that conclusion? How did she know anything about a frog? Arthur had made _sure_ that he hadn't told anyone, not even Leon or Percival, and unless Morgana had made a trip up to North Wales and spoken to one of the few people who did know, he didn't understand how she could have made that connection. The 'person he keeps thinking about' was a little less disconcerting but still unnerving. Morgana had always had a sixth sense for when he was currently 'with' someone, but in this case… Arthur had thought he'd kept that fact well hidden.

How the fuck did Morgana do that? Maybe it really was something supernatural, magical, even, for there should have been no way she could have known. Arthur shook his head. No, he didn't want to think about that. He didn't want to think about magic at all., something so impossible and incomprehensible that it baffled him to even consider. There was only one particular type of such gifts that he deemed in any way acceptable and somehow knowing things that _shouldn't be known_ wasn't one of them.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Arthur repeated, turning sharply and striding in the direction of Warren's office once more.

He heard Morgana sigh behind him, but the sound of her following him was absented. "Pining isn't going to do you any good, Arthur," she said, blessedly not loud enough to carry unduly. "You should do something about it for a change. You always were of the more proactive kind."

Arthur didn't reply as he turned the corner at the end of the hallway. He didn't say a word even as Morgana's statement rung true in his mind. Do something? Of course he wanted to do something. And yes, he _was_ always proactive.

But in this case, pertaining to this situation? Arthur didn't think he would. The last time he'd seen Merlin, Merlin hadn't seemed particularly keen on seeing him. He'd been hard to read but far from the friendly and welcoming person that Arthur had come to know so well.

Arthur wouldn't do anything. He couldn't, no matter how much he wanted to. He wouldn't put his foot forward and plough into a situation simply because he wanted to. Not this time.

* * *

Everything changed one afternoon at the end of October. It changed in a way that Merlin hadn't even contemplated. It hadn't even been on the cards.

It wasn't in a particularly good way, either.

Merlin returned from university on Tuesday afternoon and immediately took himself down to the stables. He'd promised Mordred – or more correctly promised the rest of the residents in the stable who complained of Mordred's disgruntlement at letting loose for the past few days – that he would take him out for a run that afternoon, and as such he didn't actually take a trip up to the house until it was nearly dark. When he did, it was to pause at the door to the sound of laughter echoing from inside and the chatter of voices.

Merlin frowned. He'd seen Tyr and the rest of the hands leave already at a distance as he'd spent some time merely chatting with the horses in the stables, so it couldn't be any of them. Had Hunith asked someone over? That was strange, because she always told him when she was doing so. Not that Merlin needed to know, but he knew she considered it a common courtesy. He'd always done the same in return.

Stepping inside, Merlin slipped his muddy shoes off at the door, dropping his bag to the ground. "I'm home," he called, raising his voice just enough to project through the house.

The barely audible conversation cut of momentarily, only to be hastily filled by Hunith's, "Oh, Merlin? Did you just take Mordred out?" She poked her head from the living room, turning towards him down the length of the hallway. Her expression caused Merlin to pause in step, his reply dying on his lips.

She was smiling. Really smiling with a visible glow of delight that flooded her expression. Her cheeks were a little flushed and her eyes sparkled in sheer merriment that she rarely wore. So rarely that Merlin knew instantly what had happened. He knew who it was that had come for a visit.

He didn't take another step, didn't start down the hallway towards the living room – Merlin didn't move at all, even when Hunith's expression slipped into uncharacteristic sheepishness. She knew Merlin was never particularly happy when _he_ returned.

Unfortunately, Balinor was largely oblivious to his dissatisfaction.

Merlin's father appeared alongside Hunith, stepping past her with a smile stretching widely across his face. He was skinnier than last time Merlin had seen him, his face weathered and darkened a little from the sun. A peppered beard adorned his chin and cheeks and his hair was a little longer, but that wasn't anything particularly unusual. Balinor always looked a little like a wild man when he returned from his research endeavours. At least he'd changed from the threadbare outfits he used as his staple wardrobe; what he wore would actually look acceptable in public.

"Merlin!" Balinor said with unnecessary joviality. Beaming, he started down the hallway, arms opening wide in what was very obviously going to be an embrace. "I was wondering when you'd get home, kid."

Merlin allowed himself be wrapped in his father's arms without comment, though he could feel his back and shoulders stiffen. He didn't smile, didn't offer a hug in response, but it hardly mattered. Balinor was deliberately yet somehow unconsciously oblivious to that which never suited him particularly, and one of those things was Merlin's disgruntlement that he left. Merlin would never get over that, would never overlook that he _always_ _left_. He couldn't, not after what he'd seen it do to his mother and how she would sigh, resigned, and have to pick herself up and put herself back together again each and every time.

Balinor took half a step away from him, running his gaze up and down Merlin in an almost clinical scan. "You're looking well," he said, sounding almost satisfied.

Merlin nodded shortly. "Yeah," was all he said in reply.

"Been a while. I almost forgot what you looked like," Balinor joked.

Merlin didn't smile. "Yeah, it has been a while."

It was poor timing. Poor timing because Merlin knew he was in a fairly incessantly bad mood of late. It was unshakeable, even when he accepted the reason for it. There was a lot of regret swimming through him of late, regrets tied almost exclusively to Arthur. That he hadn't said a proper goodbye to him, that he hadn't asked him to at least try to keep in touch, despite their vastly different lives.

That Merlin hadn't done more. Arthur was his _friend_ , and he'd come to almost expect him at his side. Now…

No, now was not a good time. Since Merlin had become a teenager, since he'd first realised that Balinor was leaving not so much because he had to but because he wanted to, he'd never been able to forgive him. Such an inability made their relationship strained, at least on Merlin's part. Not that Balinor seemed to notice. He was good at overlooking that which didn't suit him while honing in on the inconsequential that did.

"You're still at uni?"

"Yeah."

"How's it been? Keeping up with your studies?"

"Yeah, it's fine."

"You'll have to tell me all about it. Managing all your chores on the farm too?"

Merlin only nodded, ignoring the slight wince from his mother over Balinor's shoulder, the way she bit her bottom lip and raised a hand to pick at her chin. Merlin knew he was making things awkward, even if only for Hunith and himself because of Balinor's obliviousness, but he couldn't help it. He'd had a problem with his father for years that he couldn't imagine smoothing out any time soon. Balinor seemed to forget that Merlin and Hunith's lives continued when he was away; Merlin was half convinced he still thought Merlin was fifteen most of the time.

"Mordred's that colt, right?" Balinor was saying, clapping a hand on Merlin's shoulder. "He's still a mopey little git?"

Merlin shrugged, only half attempting to rid his shoulder of his father's hand. Any good humour that had lingered with him from the afternoon's ride was rapidly dissipating. "Not really. He just doesn't like a lot of people."

Balinor laughed as though Merlin had told a witty joke. "Yeah, I always got that impression. He only ever liked you."

Merlin shrugged again and let himself be tugged along as Balinor turned and directed them both back towards the living room to where Hunith stood still worrying at her bottom lip. She rid her expression of her concern as they approached, however, adopting a smile that was only slightly less vibrant than what it had been when Merlin had first walked in.

The rest of the evening was a tug-of-war of Merlin trying to tamp down on his frustration for his father for his mother's sake and fighting the urge to glare at Balinor from across the room. Merlin didn't dislike people, had never found much point in actively disputing another person and their opinions, but Balinor was an exceptional case. For very distinct reasons, he always rubbed Merlin the wrong way. Merlin couldn't even listen with objective interest as he spoke of his work, even if the dragons that were his entire life did interest him.

At dinner was when the real bombshell was dropped, however. Balinor was as chatty as ever, Hunith nearly as much, and between the two of them Merlin hardly had need to contribute a word. Which was a good thing, really, because even Merlin could tell that he was more subdued than he normally was around his father. A voice in the back of his head, one that had been muttering to him quite often of late, told him to get his act together. That he was moping for no good reason and that so what Arthur was gone, he'd only been alongside Merlin for two months and such should hardly be enough for Merlin to really miss him.

Merlin did, though. He missed Arthur and his talking, his teasing and his long-suffering sighs more than he would have thought possible. It didn't help that he kept reminding himself that Arthur was a prince, and a human again, and that he lived an entire country away. That didn't seem to matter to his subconscious wistfulness.

Merlin was drawn from his thoughts, however, as he picked at his potatoes and ignored Balinor's objections to the meat substitutes that he'd never quite converted to. Balinor very deliberately drew his attention.

"Merlin, that snake, the one down by the dam." He made a vague gesture in the air with his fork, a potato speared on the end. "He's still around?"

Merlin stared at him for a long moment, smothering the urge to roll his eyes. "You mean Kilgharrah?"

"That's the old grass snake, right?" Balinor nodded in memory, for which Merlin could only offer a mental shake of his head. Balinor had only ever been able to spoke to reptiles, something that had baffled Merlin and his mother to no end because it made Merlin's own broader linguistic range that much more confusing. But even so, despite being that exclusive, Balinor still seemed forgetful of particular individuals. Kilgharrah had always been more inclined to talk to Merlin for some reason, but Balinor had been his correspondent for just as long. "He's still alive?"

"As far as I'm aware," Merlin said with a shrug. He hadn't been to visit the dam in several weeks and when he did Kilgharrah was nowhere to be seen. It was expected, really, since it was getting colder. He likely only surfaced around midday.

"I should go down and see him sometime," Balinor said, and Merlin got the impression he was talking more to himself than to Merlin or Hunith. "Probably be better to wait until it gets a little warmer, though. Snakes are always in a hell of a mood when they're cold. Awfully grumbly."

Merlin nodded obligingly, automatically recognising Balinor's words for the truth before he paused with a frown. Wait, did he mean -? "When it gets warmer?"

Balinor nodded, a small smile touching his lips. "Reckon summers probably better. The better mood he's in the less he'll chew me out about disappearing for over a year."

Merlin stared, barely even registering his father's words enough to feel irritated that apparently he realised when a _snake_ was annoyed with him but not his own son. Did that mean…? Did Balinor…? "You're staying till summer?" He asked warily.

Balinor's grin widened but it was Hunith who answered. She dropped a hand on Balinor's arm at her side and turned a smaller smile of her own towards Merlin. "Your dad's most recent research has finished up, at least for now. He's going to be at the university for a little while, and see where it takes him."

Balinor nodded at her side. "I'm thinking of taking a bit of a break from travel now anyway. Missing the Welsh air, I find." He turned a fond glance towards Hunith, who only beamed the more widely for it.

Merlin stared at his father. Then he stared at his mother. He didn't say anything, didn't even shake his head in incredulity though he wanted to. Unbelievable _._ They'd both accepted it so easily, as if it was hardly even noteworthy. It was just…

 _Unbelievable_.

Merlin didn't say another word for the rest of dinner.

His mother found him in his room, slumped backwards on his bed and flicking through his phone. Gwaine had sent him a series of pictures of someone who could have been Will if he squinted hard enough, though Will would never be caught in such a shameless state, and was in hysterics over it. Merlin was under no illusions that Will would be giving him a call later that night to complain about him.

He sat up as Hunith knocked on the door, however, immediately inviting her in. She stepped slowly into the room, almost tentatively, and offered him a smile that Merlin returned. She crossed the room towards him and bounced into sitting on the bed alongside him as Merlin pushed himself up.

"Are you alright?" She said with no pause introduction.

Merlin gave a humourless puff of laughter. She'd been asking him that a lot lately. "About Balinor?"

Hunith pursed her lips slightly. "You know he'll keep pestering you if you insist on calling him his name rather than Dad."

Merlin shrugged. "He can pester away."

"Merlin," Hunith sighed.

Merlin raised an eyebrow. A very pointed eyebrow that he knew said everything he'd already spoken to his mother years before. The understanding in her expression indicated she perceived as much. Still, after a moment Merlin continued anyway. "Can you really blame me for being annoyed at him?"

"He just doesn't realise, Merlin," Hunith attempted.

"Yeah, and that's kind of a problem."

"He tries, though," Hunith said with another sigh, her expression earnest. "He does try. He just…" She trailed off.

Merlin shook his head. Tries? Balinor didn't even know what to try for. He didn't understand what it did to Hunith each time he left because she'd always picked herself up and mended herself by the time he reappeared once more. Merlin didn't care so much what it meant to him not having a father around; even before Balinor had been overseas he'd been lost in his studies and spent half his nights at the university. While Hunith had taken to the farm as though it were her own child to care for, Balinor had never been one to do so. He'd inherited it after his father's passing but didn't seem to have any undue attachment to it. Not like Hunith did.

No, Merlin didn't care about how _he_ felt. It was his mother that he was concerned for. How it wasn't fair to her, that she might get her hopes up with his words that Balinor would stick around only for him to disappear again at a moment's notice. It was –

It was one of the main reasons Merlin didn't want to leave. Why he couldn't leave, even briefly.

"He's going to stick around, you know," Hunith said, interrupting Merlin's thoughts. Merlin glanced towards her from where he hadn't even realised his eyes had dropped to his hands. "We've been talking about it since he got in this morning. He really does seem intent on sticking around."

"It's the 'seem' that I'm sceptical about," Merlin muttered.

Hunith shook her head. "It doesn't matter even if he does decide to leave. It's happened before, Merlin. It's not like we can't live with it. And I'd rather he chase his work as he wants to than be tied down." She shook her head once more. "It's fine, whatever he chooses to do."

Merlin stared at her for a long moment. "It's fine?" He asked slowly. Then, "You're alright with that?"

"I'm fine, Merlin. Really, I'm fine." Hunith smiled as she reached a hand up to pat the side of his head in her familiar, comforting gesture. Then she paused and her expression became soft. "I will be fine, too. You don't need to take care of me. You should feel free to enjoy yourself." Another pat, smoothing the hair along Merlin's head. "Take a trip somewhere. Go and have _fun_. You don't need to stay locked up in this house for the rest of your life."

Just like that, Merlin realised for the first time that his mother knew his thoughts on the matter exactly. They'd joked about it but it had never been seriously voiced. But she knew. She understood. Hunith had always claimed that she was perfectly happy with Merlin living with her, even when in the same breath she hastened to inform him that she would be fine if he wanted to leave, if he wanted to take time to travel and _do_ something.

Merlin knew her well enough to know that his mother was a generous person. She would always put Merlin's needs before her own. That was the worst part, really. It made discerning whether she knew she would truly be alright or if she was merely claiming as much difficult for him to determine. But she understood. Clearly she understood, and in her way she was telling Merlin to…

There was a part of Merlin that wanted to take his mother up on her unspoken offer. A part that wanted to nod his head enthusiastically, jump to his feet and immediately set about packing an overnight back to make a trip to god only knew where. Just a short trip, nothing exceptional, and the murmured suggestion of _'Cardiff'_ rose in his mind. But an equally large part of him was insisting that he shouldn't. That he wouldn't. And Merlin knew without thought which side would win out.

Offering a small smile to his mother in turn, Merlin leaned forwards and wrapped her in an embrace a split second short of missing the resigned expression that touched her face. "I'm not going anywhere, Mum. What do you take me for?"

Hunith sighed her resignation, a little wearily, but even so she locked her arms around him in return. "Maybe any normal uni student looking to enjoy himself?" She murmured in suggestion.

Merlin uttered a forced chuckle into her shoulder. "Well, when have I ever been exactly normal?"

Hunith didn't reply to that. She only held him tighter, a hand patting him on the small of his back as though sympathetic. Merlin pointedly ignored the voice in the back of his mind that murmured 'opportunity missed'.

He knew he wasn't going anywhere.

* * *

 _"He's well, so I've heard. Back at university. He's a smart boy, I could tell. Would have been able to guess as much simply knowing he was Hunith's boy." Gaius afforded Arthur a smile over the rim of the teacup that faded as Arthur failed to return it. He cleared his throat slightly before continuing. "But she didn't say terribly much. From what I can understand, school takes up most of his time. He's got a heavy workload this semester, apparently."_

Hours later and Arthur was still thinking of the discussion he'd had with Gaius. In many ways, his visits to the man who was practically his uncle – visits that had become far more frequent of late – were a profound relief to him. No one else knew about his time as a frog, no one even suspected or had a clue that anything had been afoot – with the exception of Morgana of course, whose prodding hadn't ceased despite Arthur's attempts at deflection.

Gaius had been a blessing for the fact that Arthur could _talk_ to someone about it. Or at least as much as he felt comfortable to talk about it. In a lot of ways it still seemed impossible, even more so now that he had become human. It was unbelievable that this thing called magic existed, magic that Gaius, as Merlin had, consistently denied referring to it as such. Gaius attempted to explain the concept to him, of his own healing magic, of what he could only speculate as to Merlin's gift of animal speech and the various other abilities he'd come across, but at the end of the day Arthur was left with one resounding conclusion: he didn't know. He didn't understand. It seemed as random and inexplicable as the genetic differences between less magical gifts. Even more so, really, since that could be vaguely explained.

Magic… there was no explanation for magic. No explanation but the one Gaius afforded that consisted of a hazy 'it simply is'.

More importantly than that, however, or at least in Arthur's opinion, was the fact that Gaius knew Merlin. More correctly, he knew Hunith, and more recently – that morning in fact – Arthur had arrived at his old friend's house to discover that Gaius had called Hunith just the day before. And he'd discussed Merlin.

 _"Hunith's husband, Balinor, has apparently returned from overseas," Gaius continued. He offered another smile, though there was a touch of strain to it. "Apparently Merlin and he aren't getting along quite as well as could be hoped."_

Arthur hadn't been able to say a word to that. He hadn't met Balinor and had only heard stories of him from Merlin that were few and far between. Minimal at most, as though Merlin didn't particularly want to speak of him. No, Arthur hadn't met Balinor, but in what now seemed such a short time of being with Merlin he'd come to know him. He could read that there was something there between father and son even if Merlin didn't say anything. 'Aren't getting on' seemed like an understatement in that regard. Arthur's relationship with his own father was different entirely – distant, almost professional – but he could recognise strain in a father-son relationship where it was apparent. It was merely of a variable type.

It made Arthur's gut clench to think about it. Unexpectedly, inexplicably, the thought that Merlin wasn't happy, that he was unhappy in a way that Arthur wouldn't be able to do anything about even had he been with him, made him feel slightly nauseous. Arthur didn't understand it, but then he hadn't understood a lot about his own thoughts and feelings of late. He didn't understand why every moment when he let himself pause he would think of Merlin. Why when he was alone and struggling to fall to sleep it was the estate to the north that his mind turned to. He didn't know why the memory of Merlin smiling wide enough to brighten an entire township would make him unconsciously smile himself, or why the thought of him unhappy saddened Arthur too.

Oh, he knew logically. _Logically_ , had he seen such symptoms in another person, Arthur would have been able to identify them immediately. But… Arthur wasn't like other people. He didn't _like_ other people, not particularly and not deeply.

But he missed Merlin.

He missed Merlin and the days they'd spent simply side by side, Merlin still sparing him a thought for conversation even as he worked. He missed the hours they'd spent with Arthur reading Merlin's textbook over his shoulder, understanding barely a word of it and unconsciously feeling his respect for him grow as he realised he _didn't_ understand it. Not at all.

Mostly, however, Arthur missed how comfortable it had been to be around Merlin. He'd never had that with anyone before, not Leon or Percival, not Morgana or his father, not any of the partners he'd had in the past however long or brief. It was the sort of comfort that had been so natural that Arthur hadn't realised it had settled upon him until it was taken away.

Arthur missed that. He missed it sorely, and the longer he thought about it the more he came to realise that he truly, deeply…

 _I just want to see him._ It was an astounding thought, one that had never crossed Arthur's mind before. He _did_ want to see Merlin. He wanted to ask him about his studies and read the incomprehensible jargon over his shoulder. He wanted to jump astride a horse for the first time and race across the undulating hills of the estate grounds _alongside_ Merlin, revelling in the thrill of the ride with him. More than that, however, he wanted to simply sit, to truly fill a cushion and lean against Merlin as he'd never had the chance to before. To be with him, to feel the warmth of his presence as he hadn't been able to appreciate but for a confusing contrast of comfort and uneasiness for such heat as a frog.

When Arthur thought about it, that was what he wanted most. What he regretted most, that he'd never been able to experience that.

 _I actually miss him,_ Arthur thought, not for the first time nor even the hundredth in the past month. _I've never missed anyone before, but… I miss him._

 _"Have you tried calling him?" Gaius asked, taking another sip of his tea._

 _Arthur stared down into the dregs of his own. He'd hardly tasted a sip of it. He shook his head. "I don't think that would be appropriate."_

 _Gaius raised a single bushy eyebrow, scepticism almost as thick as reprimand in the expression. "Arthur."_

 _"What?" Arthur couldn't look at him, for perhaps the first time in his life having to struggle to adopt a brave face. Or at least his first time as a human; he'd failed in doing so more than enough as a frog. Fortunately, Merlin had been the only one to see, to really understand that and Merlin… Arthur didn't mind so much if Merlin saw._

 _Gaius' eyebrow twitched higher. "What about calling a friend – one who has helped you so significantly – would be inappropriate?"_

 _Arthur pressed his lips together. He could have replied with a number of things – that he was scared, which he was but wouldn't admit, that he didn't know what he would say, that he worried that hearing Merlin speak might induce in him the compulsive urge to take a spontaneous trip back up to Aberystwyth. He didn't say any of that, however, merely shaking his head. "From the impression I received the last time I – when I left, I perceived that he wouldn't be particularly receptive to further conversation."_

 _Gaius pursed his lips but he didn't say anything further. Arthur was grateful for that._

Even hours later, Arthur was still thinking about that discussion. Thinking about it when he really should be more focused upon his surroundings. It wasn't surprising, however. Arthur often found himself thinking about Merlin, more increasingly of late as realisation and understanding of what he truly felt slowly dawned upon him. He couldn't suppress it had he wanted to.

Arthur was absently – and with little care – ignoring the rest of the diners along the long table that stretched the entire length of Baenwyn Castle's largest dining hall. Dignitaries and ambassadors, lords and ladies, prominent figures and political representatives all were seated alongside one another in their own hierarchical arrangement. The sound of polite, formal chatter accompanied the clinking of cutlery on plates, the _thunk_ of glasses set back upon the table, the squeak of chairs and the shuffle of expensive fabrics. Waiters swept throughout the room with seamless precision, topping up drinks, removing plates when they were finished with, receiving specific requests from those that distractedly raised their hands in a call to attention.

Arthur was more than familiar with the etiquette and procedure of formal dinners. Familiar and frustratingly so, for he'd never been fond of them, had never seen the need for such grandeur and expenses paid for the annual state visit of the English royal family. His sister sat on one side of him, his father the other, and it was a blessed relief for he could ignore the nattering swirling around him with the casual ignorance of hearing deficiencies.

There was hardly anything of interest to be spoken anyway. Not by most of the guests, which left Arthur to his own thoughts, to thinking of Merlin as he was so prone to of late. Or at least he was for the most part, when he wasn't darting compulsive glances across the table towards Guinevere.

The princess had spared Arthur little more than a cursory greeting. Formal, as respectful as was entitled him, but with little to no compassion. Arthur doubted that many would be able to perceive such standoffish-ness from her, but he'd known Gwen practically her whole life. Most of his too, even if such 'knowing' was only on the most distant of levels. He was familiar enough with her expressions to know when she was disapproving, and Gwen had been so of Arthur for years.

The sight of Gwen invoked memories of the last time they'd seen one another. Or more correctly the last time Arthur had seen Gwen, for regardless of how she'd played along with it, she hadn't been aware that Arthur was the frog she'd jokingly dropped a kiss upon. Of course she hadn't; Arthur would have been more concerned for her mental state if she had been, and had as such easily accepted it.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to speak to her. The urge was certainly there, and Arthur actually wanted to _talk_ to her, with more sincerity than he'd perhaps ever wished to before. But Gwen didn't see him any differently than she always had. She'd barely glanced his way, had spent most of the night speaking to her brother Elyan at her side or across the table to Morgana. Gwen and Morgana had always had a curious relationship – curious because they were so utterly different and yet somehow it worked.

It made Arthur think, drew his mind to that which it always seemed to be turning nowadays. He and Merlin were different. They were vastly different, in both station, lifestyle, personality… and yet somehow it clicked. Or at least it had for Arthur. He loved –

Well, he loved being around Merlin. That much he would admit to himself.

The dinner passed with little ceremony except that which was typical of such official dinners. Arthur's father rose at the conclusion of the meal to offer a brief word of appreciation to the gathered guests, a habit he had always been partial to in what he called 'paying due respect to those in attendance'. He'd always explained as much to Arthur with a faint yet exasperatedly approving expression upon his face, as though Arthur should know and understand that.

Of course Arthur knew. He'd just be damned if he'd ever approve of such behaviours. What other, normal circumstances insisted that the host prepare a lengthy and elaborate speech to the guests in his attendance? Certainly, the king was a king, but still. Arthur had never quite accepted that part of royal life, despite knowing nothing else. It was stupid to him. It always would be.

They retired into the ballroom alongside the dining hall shortly after, a room that Morgana always referred to beneath her breath as the vulture's nest for the attempts at mingling that those of lesser station conducted. Arthur could only agree with her and within half an hour was already thoroughly sick of those vultures. Not that he let on; he was impudent, selfish and a spoilt brat, but Arthur wasn't so foolish as to make a scene and openly ridicule or reject those that approached him. He didn't think his father would be able to stand that.

Besides, it all felt just a little petty to do so now.

Arthur was just extracting himself from the clutches of one such vulture when Gwen appeared at his side, champagne glass in hand yet for all appearances largely untouched. She was resplendent in a floor-length gown, far removed from the casual dress she'd been wearing the last time Arthur had seen her, and similarly different to that time in that she wasn't smiling. Gwen rarely spared the effort to offer Arthur a smile.

And yet, quite unexpectedly, she wasn't scowling either. There wasn't a hint of that hidden disapproval upon her face that Arthur had seen so many times before. Far from it, in fact, there was veiled curiosity, almost suspicion touching her features, tugging her brow in a slight frown. Arthur realised with mild surprise that such had actually been worn upon her face for the entirety of the night whenever she'd turned towards him. He'd merely perceived it as her usual disgruntlement.

Arthur had no idea what that was all about.

"Arthur," she said shortly, nodding her head slightly.

"Gwen," Arthur replied just as simply, though couldn't help but let his voice soften slightly. It was impossible not to; the memory of her vibrancy when he'd last seen her, the enthusiasm and brightness he'd never seen on a personal basis before, forbade his usual flatness. That and the fact that, well… Merlin. Arthur knew it was likely simply the rose-tinted glasses of retrospect that warmed him whenever he recalled quite literally anything pertaining to Merlin, but he couldn't help himself. It was bittersweet reminiscence.

Gwen stared at him for a long moment, her frown settling further into confusion. When she spoke it was with remarkable bluntness, more similar to Morgana than Arthur had ever considered possible. "You're different somehow."

Arthur blinked slowly before nodding his head. "Apparently, or so I've been told. I assume you've read the papers."

"Apparently?" Gwen raised an eyebrow and – honestly, how had Arthur missed that? The expression was basically copied and pasted from Morgana. Had Gwen always been like that and he simply hadn't noticed. No, Gwen was sweet and compassionate, a kind person, while Morgana was – "I don't think there's all that much apparent about it."

Arthur frowned questioningly. "What do you mean?"

Shaking her head, Gwen took a minute sip from her glass. It was so small that it was unlikely more than a drop touched her tongue. To drink in moderation – Arthur's father would have approved, though likely more because Arthur very deliberately denied such restraint in less formal situations than anything.

"I mean that there's no logic behind it," Gwen said. "Or at least none that anyone can make out. Nothing's _changed_ for you, Arthur, so it's baffling as to why you seem to have."

"I never saw you as being such a sceptic, Gwen," Arthur murmured, turning to draw his gaze around the room in an unseeing scan. What could he say? That he'd been turned into a frog, been in the company of a person that had slowly and then suddenly become possibly the most important person to him in the world, and now felt just… different? Arthur could hardly believe it, even in his own mind. Even having experienced it himself.

Gwen made a harrumphing sound, drawing Arthur's attention back towards her. She was tapping her upraised glass with a finger, her thoughtful frown settling more deeply. Arthur raised an eyebrow in question. "Why do you care? You've always been nothing but dismissive of me in the past."

"With good reason," Gwen pointed out.

"I never said it wasn't."

Gwen's frown deepened further, truly confused by his reply. "See, that. You've never said anything like that before."

Arthur shrugged casually. "I still don't understand why it bothers you."

Gwen tapped her finger for a moment longer before huffing a sigh. She seemed to chew over what she was going to say for a moment before continuing. "I don't particularly. I've accepted that we're different people, Arthur, and that will never change. We have vastly different priorities and approaches to life and I'll never understand yours."

Arthur didn't reply for a moment as Gwen paused. He was abruptly very grateful that those around them were keeping a respectful distance; it was one thing to stand beneath Gwen's disapproval in relative privacy. It was quite another to be before it in public, where titters and nods of agreement were bound to surface. Not that Arthur really cared, but it did annoy him just a little. He wasn't in the mood for further annoyance, not when he was so on edge of late.

"But?" He prompted after a long wait.

Gwen huffed again. "But. I've a friend who has said something to me that makes me even more confused. And I can't help but wonder…"

Arthur frowned. A friend? He didn't spend enough time with Gwen to know any of her friends. "Whom are you referring to, exactly?"

Gwen pursed her lips, her fingers making hollow little tinkling sounds on her glass. She peered up at Arthur for another long moment before replying. "You and Lance Dulac. How do you know each other, exactly?"

Arthur felt his eyebrows rise. He'd almost forgotten about Merlin's all-but-adopted brother Lance entirely. How could he have forgotten, especially with Gwen right before him for the entirety of the night? When he thought about it, however, it made sense. Gwen knew Lance, who knew about Arthur's situation. Maybe Merlin had even told him about it, had informed him that the situation had been corrected. Arthur didn't know but apparently Lance had been speaking to Gwen. About Arthur.

"Why?" Arthur asked before he really thought about what he was going to say.

Gwen pursed her lips once more. She seemed on the verge of objecting to Arthur's question before biting back her words. With a shake of her head she uttered another sigh. "He just told me to relay a message to you. I have no idea why he would ask me to tell you anything because surely if you knew one another he could simply tell you himself." She shook her head again, more in confusion than denial. "But whatever. He called in a favour."

"And you're taking him up on that request?" Arthur asked absently, thoughts entirely elsewhere.

Gwen's frown was real this time. "Of course. He's my – he's my friend."

At her words, Arthur was momentarily distracted from his pondering. Right. Friends. He could perceive bullshit in that, at least. Nodding, biting back the sudden and unexpected urge to smile, Arthur tipped his head in an expression of as much openness and receptiveness as he could manage. It wasn't a familiar expression for him, felt almost uncomfortable, but he thought he pulled it off well enough. "What did he ask you to tell me?"

Gwen stared at him for a long moment before pointing at him almost accusingly with the hand that held her glass. "If I tell you, you have to explain what it's all about."

Arthur nodded, even though he knew he didn't have any real intention of doing so. Filtering the content of what had happened was necessary when it came to people who didn't know, when considering preserving Arthur's impression of sanity.

Gwen seemed to accept his affirmation as a promise, because she nodded curtly in turn before continuing. "Lance said you should call your mutual friend, or better yet go and see him. He says he doesn't understand why you haven't already, that he was surprised when he heard from your friend that you hadn't but, and I quote, "I think it will be good for him"." Gwen raised an eyebrow questioningly. "You have a mutual friend, too?"

But Arthur wasn't listening anymore. His mind was abruptly far, far elsewhere and entirely distracted. Lance was… Lance had said… Lance had called Merlin, or perhaps the other way around and… what? What had made him say that? Had Merlin said something?

 _I think it will be good for him_. What did that mean? Arthur wasn't sure, but he was all of a sudden concerned. Was something wrong? Something other than the shit-storm that was potentially taking place since Merlin's father had returned home? Arthur wasn't sure it was as bad as that but he couldn't help worrying.

Worrying. He was worried.

"Arthur?" Gwen asked, and there was as much concern as vexation in her tone. "Who was Lance talking about? How do you know -?"

"He's talking about Merlin," Arthur murmured distractedly. He hardly even heard Gwen's words of surprise, her call to attention and demand to know just _how_ Arthur knew Lance or Merlin. He was deeply embedded in the throughs of consideration.

 _I think it will be good for him.._. Arthur didn't know what that meant exactly, but he knew for certain that it would be good for at least one of them. All of a sudden that much was clear to him. It wasn't much of a leap from that to his sudden decision.

Damn it all, and damn what Merlin might think because Arthur wanted it _so badly_. He'd decided.


	10. Chapter 10 - Adulthood

**Chapter 10: Adulthood**

Merlin scrubbed a hand over his face as he pushed the car door closed with his hip, the thumb of his other hand tapping out a quick message as he did. He barely considered what he was doing, barely thought about the words he sent but to ensure that they made him sound upbeat, casual, _normal_.

Lance was worried about him. For some unknown and entirely illogical reason, he'd said he was worried for him. Merlin had called him offhandedly several days before with the simple thought of catching up with one of his oldest friends, but apparently Lance had seen it as more than that.

Something was wrong. That was how Lance had phrased it, and as he spoke he sounded very much like he knew what it was. Merlin did too, of course, but Lance didn't need to know about that. Or at least he didn't have to have any of his suspicions confirmed. It wasn't that obvious, was it? Merlin wasn't _that_ worrisome, surely. Besides, in recent weeks he'd been getting better. Things had almost settled back to normal.

If only Merlin could convince himself of that fact.

"I'm home," Merlin called out vaguely as he stepped through the door, slipping his shoes off and starting down the hallway. He paused to stick his head into the living room, then into the dining room in search of his mother. It was only afternoon and she was likely still working down at the paddocks as she'd suggested she would that morning, but he would always check. It had become automatic to do so since… Merlin couldn't even remember how long.

She wasn't there. Neither was Balinor for that matter, which Merlin could only be tentatively grateful for. Balinor hadn't disappeared at a moment's notice – not yet, at least, for Merlin wouldn't hold high – and he'd even started to come out of his study and his one-track mind of work at the university. He'd been helping out on the farm more and more of late, and though he'd never been able to talk to horses, never been able to speak to anything but reptiles, he had a way with them nonetheless. Hunith was ecstatic for it, though she pretended she wasn't.

Merlin wondered if perhaps she'd had a talk to Balinor, had encouraged him in that direction. It certainly seemed like it.

Taking himself up to his room and carelessly dumping his schoolbooks and laptop on his bed, Merlin changed into an old pair of work pants and shirt, shucking a jacket over his shoulders to fend of the encroaching coolness. From the feel of the chill that was only growing increasingly that November, Merlin suspected winter to hit hard. Perhaps there would even be an early snow?

Starting downstairs once more and taking himself through the back door, Merlin paused in step with a slight frown as he noticed a sleek, black car squatting in the centre of the backside turning bay, missed upon his entry through the front door. His first through was that it was a client come to see one of their agisted horses, but Merlin thought he was familiar enough with those cars to recognise that the black one wasn't one of them. Wealthy though most of their clients were, they were practical in that their cars were generally of the kind built to handle rockier terrain. Merlin was half surprised that the one perched in the drive had made it as far as it had.

There was the vague outline of a figure in the front seat of the car – no, two figures. It was hard to see for the darkness of the tinted windows. They appeared to be talking but neither inclined to climb out. Merlin had to wonder about that, his curiosity almost getting the better of him, but he ignored it in favour of stepping past and starting down the slight incline towards the stables.

Only to pause as Balinor stepped from the greenhouse right into his path. Merlin's father started slightly as they nearly crashed into one another but he only adopted a wide smile a moment later. Balinor always smiled at Merlin, as though to see him made him happy. It was kind of weird. "Merlin! You're back earlier than I expected."

Merlin raised an eyebrow. "It's nearly five o'clock."

"Is it really?" Balinor startled slightly as though the news surprised him. "Well, how about that? I must have lost track of time."

Merlin was annoyed with his father. So annoyed that he bordered upon angry at times. He was careless, selfish in chasing his goals and dreams and not thinking about the wife he left behind, oblivious to the disgruntlement of those around him… Yes, Merlin was annoyed with him, and had been annoyed for years now. And yet even through his irritation he could perceive that Balinor was trying. Maybe it was something Hunith had said or maybe he'd simply taken a turn for the more mature. Merlin didn't know, but he found himself – begrudgingly at that – struggling to try and act a little differently. He didn't particularly _want_ to be angry with his father, even if he deserved it, and never enjoyed being angry with anyone, so if Balinor was changing…

"You alright, kid?" Balinor asked. He was dusting what could have been soil or fertilizer from the thick gloves he wore, making streaks of mess on his trousers with a carelessness that Merlin remembered from when he was a child. Balinor had never had much consideration for expenses, for material possessions; it was one of the reasons he'd never appreciated the estate, not like Hunith had. His disregard for his clothes, though not entirely uncharacteristic of the workers on their farm, only emphasised that.

Merlin shrugged. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Looking a little glum, is all."

Merlin stared at his father for a long moment. He looked glum? Since when was Balinor observant enough to realise that. He shook his head slowly this time. "No, I'm fine."

Balinor stared back in turn for an equally long time. That in itself was unusual for him. Balinor was the sort of person who spoke as soon as a thought entered his mind. When he continued this time, however, it was slow and measured. "Your mum and I were talking about you. She's a bit worried, you know."

Merlin nearly laughed at that. Not because of his mother's concern but because of Balinor's words. The discussion between he and Hunith would surely have been in confidence, but Balinor had never been particularly good at keeping secrets. He didn't laugh, though; it would have been in fairly poor taste for the sincerity of Balinor's expression.

Shaking his head, Merlin offered a small smile. Even that seemed to ease Balinor somewhat. That sort of thing always had. He was sort of gullible like that. "Really, there's nothing wrong. I'm just a little swamped under uni work at the moment."

Balinor nodded knowingly. "That's what I told your mum but she seems to think otherwise." He clapped a hand on Merlin's shoulder with a smile that could have been proud. "You're doing a good job, Merlin. Keep up the hard work."

 _You really have no idea_ , Merlin couldn't help but think. Balinor was clueless. It was a show of just how much better Hunith knew Merlin than his father did that she would disregard Merlin's repeated deflections in favour of her own observations. Not that Merlin was particularly happy for those observations, but it was the truth. And Merlin didn't blame Balinor for not understanding, not really, for there was no way he could know Merlin well enough for that. He blamed him for leaving for other reasons, but for not knowing Merlin? No, he didn't really care about that. Or at least he'd stopped caring about that a long time ago.

Instead of commenting to continue the conversation, Merlin shrugged enough that it dislodged Balinor's hand from his shoulder without completely shaking it loose. "Where's mum?" He asked.

Balinor half turned and made a vague gesture down the hill towards the stables. "She's with a couple of new clients or something. Showing them through the stables."

"That's who the car's for, then?"

Balinor nodded with a smirk. "I didn't meet them myself, but Hunith came up a little while ago, said she knew them. Seems familiar enough with them, anyway. You mum thinks they might be taking Aithusa."

"What?" Merlin said, pausing in step as he'd turned to leave to glance back at Balinor incredulously. "Mum's selling Aithusa?"

Balinor nodded and there was actual understanding in the rise of his eyebrows this time. "I know. She's been a tricky one not wanting to leave Aisha, but your mum seems to think we've found a match. Apparently Aithusa seems to have become suddenly attached to this new client."

Merlin shook his head with ensuing surprise. He never would have picked it. Aithusa was still young but even then most fillies her age had made a bit of a bid for independence. She was different, hadn't seemed inclined to leaving Aisha's side but under Merlin's direct request at all, and even then she would always start pining within an hour or two. If Hunith really had found someone to take her, someone she liked, that was fantastic.

"I might go down and meet them," Merlin said, already starting up with a long stride once more.

"Yeah, good idea," Balinor said from behind him. "Oh, and Merlin? Have you by any chance seen that old urn that I always liked? The white one with the lip?"

Merlin paused in step once more, glancing over his shoulder and drew a confused expression upon his face before allowing it to clear into remembrance. "You mean the Grecian one?"

Balinor smiled, as though happy he'd realised. "That's the one. Was always my favourite, ever since your mum and I –"

"Yeah, we threw that out."

Balinor stuttered to a halt and an expression of horror briefly touched his features. "What? Why?"

"It broke," Merlin said, adopting an apologetic expression. That tended to happen when someone brutally kicks it into a wall. Merlin felt no regret for throwing just that kick three years ago. Hunith had been devastated when Balinor had left not a week after her birthday, and though she'd tried to hide it Merlin could tell. The puffiness of red eyes was a little hard to disguise each morning. Merlin didn't get truly angry very often, but in that case it had been entirely justified. The urn was an unfortunate casualty of war.

"You couldn't fix it?" Balinor asked. He sounded like a child who'd just lost his favourite toy.

"It was pretty shattered. Tyr took one look at it and offered to chuck it himself."

Balinor huffed a heavy sigh, frowning. "Damn. That's a bitch." Then he shrugged, characteristically easily disregarding that which didn't suit him. "Ah well, we can only make do." Then he turned and disappeared back into the greenhouse.

Merlin shook his head as he started back towards the stables. He wasn't regretful for what he'd done, but at least he had a better control of his anger than he'd had three years ago. Will had said it was scary, that it had been horrible to see him so furious because "That's not you, Merlin. You're never the one that gets angry. Leave that job to me". That didn't mean that Merlin wasn't still resentful of Balinor, but he didn't let such resentment explode anymore. Such eruptions didn't do anyone any good and often resulted in broken flower pots.

"You're thinking awfully deeply, Merlin."

Merlin paused at the stable doors at the sound of the sibilant hiss. He felt his eyebrows rise in surprise as he glanced towards the snake sprawled in a feeble patch of sun, almost invisible for his camouflage against the sprout of thinning grass. "Kilgharrah. What are you doing here? I would have thought you'd have retired for the winter."

Kilgharrah raised his head slightly, emotionless gaze turned towards Merlin as his tongue darted towards him. "The sun is better here," he said by way of explanation.

"Did you come the whole way yourself?" Merlin asked. He hadn't visited Kilgharrah in over a week, but when he had it had been down at the dam.

"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin. Do you have any idea how long that would take for one without a horse to ride?"

Merlin smiled. Kilgharrah sounded less exasperated and more like an elder chiding his junior for that which he should by all rights already know. "Did Balinor pick you up, then? He said he wanted to go and visit you."

"He did not," Kilgharrah replied. "The Dragonlord has not deemed it fit to lower himself for such a trip."

Ignoring the touch of mocking condescension in Kilgharrah's tone, Merlin frowned. "Then how'd you get up here?"

"I hitched a ride on Llamrei," Kilgharrah supplied.

"What was Llamrei doing all the way down at the dam?"

"Clearly, she was ridden."

Merlin felt his frown settle only deeper. "But Mum doesn't ever ride her. Who rode her down?"

Kilgharrah apparently didn't deem it fit to give him a simple answer. "If you cannot make the connection yourself, Merlin, than you're far less intelligent than I always deemed you."

Barely hearing the backhanded compliment, Merlin only shook his head. "Who?"

"He always seemed to like Llamrei for some reason. Personally I don't understand why, given that the creature is a temperamental clotpole at her best, but I've never been particularly partial to horses."

"Clotpole?" Merlin raised an eyebrow.

Kilgharrah ignored his interruption. "It was only a matter of time, really. To my eyes, anyway. It was inevitable that he would show his face. You're one and the same, the both of you, yet complimenting opposites."

"What –?"

"Two sides of the same coin, as a human might call it."

Merlin was only growing more baffled by the second. "What are you going on about?"

Kilgharrah didn't reply however. Instead, he lowered his head back to the ground, tongue flicking out once more as though to punctuate his silence. His abrupt decision to end the conversation was made only more pointed as the thin, milky film of his inner eyelid slid across his eye.

Merlin sighed, rolling his eyes. Kilgharrah liked to think himself cryptic and mysterious, and as an elderly serpent perhaps he did have that right, but it was certainly unnecessary most of the time. Shaking his head, Merlin started into the stable once more, swinging the door inwards.

Only to pause in step immediately. He felt his eyes widen as he took in the sight of the single figure standing in the centre of the long row of stalls just outside of the tack shed, stroking Aithusa where the filly's snout butted her in the shoulder. A tall, slender young woman, she was dressed in a casual suit far too immaculate and refined for the grittiness of her surrounds and shoes so tall that Merlin admired her for being able to walk down to the stables in at all. She had a regal bearing, breathed an air of exaltedness seemingly without even trying, and had Merlin not recognised her on sight he thought he would have been able to identify her as royalty nonetheless.

"Fucking hell," he said before he could help himself. He clapped a hand over his mouth an instant later.

Princess Morgana turned towards him a moment later, blinking slowly and with an air of speculation as her gaze settled upon him. Then a slow smile stretched across her lips. She turned from Aithusa, dropping her hand to her side even though the filly continued to nudge her for attention, and tilted her head as she gazed upon him. "You must be Merlin."

Merlin didn't like to think of himself as easily star struck, but when the daughter of his king appeared in the middle of his stables it was a little hard not to be surprised. "You… you're…"

Morgana started towards him with slow, casual steps. Aithusa followed her like a pale shadow. "Not as good with horses as my brother informs me you are," she said, as though completing his stuttering sentence. She glanced over her shoulder with a smile, however, as Aithusa butted her once more. "But with this little girl I seem to have hit my stride."

Merlin could only blink stupidly in reply. "Your brother?"

Morgana sighed, pausing in step. "Well, that's unfortunate. He did tell me it had only been a few months, but…" She abruptly raised her voice to a call, half-turning to glance back over her shoulder once more. "Arthur, apparently he doesn't remember you after all. You really did leave it too long."

Merlin stared. Staring was all he felt capable of doing as a moment later, to the sound of rapidly scuffing shoes, Arthur appeared in the door to the tack shed with Hunith at his shoulder. He looked… wet, for some reason. Drenched, really, his blond hair damp and darkened and a towel draped around his neck. Even his clothes appeared so.

It was almost comical, given how as a frog he'd always been so.

Arthur. Arthur was here, in the middle of Merlin's stables and… and Merlin couldn't look away. He couldn't help but stare, absorbing the strange yet familiar sight of him, the features that he'd seen more times than he could count in the past months as he'd unconsciously found himself drawn to any story of the Prince of Wales, the expression of exasperation upon his face as he turned towards Morgana that was somehow reminiscent of that which Merlin had seen him wear even when he wasn't human.

Suddenly, it didn't matter. None of his qualms mattered. Merlin had been disconcerted, unhinged by the sight of Arthur as a human and hadn't known how to handle himself, how to comport himself in the face of a prince. But all of a sudden that didn't matter at all. Merlin realised he didn't care. He'd known he'd missed Arthur, had missed being around him and talking to him more than he could have ever anticipated, but he hadn't realised just how much at that moment.

Merlin didn't care anymore. He didn't care if Arthur was a human or a frog. He just so badly wanted to talk to him, to be around him, to smile as Arthur rolled his eyes in exasperation and to reminisce about how when he ran his hands through his damp hair it looked so much like how he'd done just that same motion as a frog countless times that Merlin could almost laugh.

Arthur did roll his eyes, though at Morgana this time. He shot her a scowl that Merlin suddenly felt he _knew_ , and not because he'd seen it in the papers and in the media so often. He knew it from when he'd known Arthur. "Morgana, do you mind," he drawled.

"Not in the slightest, dear brother," Morgana replied with a smile that in any other situation Merlin would have deemed predatory. Or maybe it was in this situation, too. "You more than deserve it."

Arthur appeared on the verge of replying before abruptly snapping his mouth shut. In deliberate disregard of his sister, he turned instead towards Merlin. In that moment, as a small, entirely uncharacteristically tentative smile touched his lips, everything changed all over again.

Merlin had seen Arthur smile before as a frog, understanding it through his gift for what his eyes couldn't perceive. He'd seen it, and it had warmed him in a strange sort of way. Then he'd seen it again when Arthur was a human, and it had been strange and disjointing. Merlin had been so unnerved by the entire situation that he had barely registered it for what it was.

But now, months later as reality had set in and Merlin abruptly realised how much he didn't care about such differences, how much none of the transformation even mattered to him any longer, he found that he liked it. He really, really liked Arthur's smile.

Arthur started towards him, raising a hand to grasp at the towel looped around his neck and tugging it loose. He slung it over the stall door beside Merlin as he stopped before him. For a long moment he didn't say anything. Neither did Merlin, too caught up in simply staring at him. In the past, Prince Arthur had always appeared to him as nothing but a prat. A good-looking prat, to be sure, but arrogant and dismissive, with a superiority complex that swelled his head to at least twice its normal size.

His expression was different now, though. Warmer somehow, with less hardness in his eyes and the scowl he'd worn moment in the face of his sister before absented entirely. If possible… Merlin had never associated such a term with the prince before, but he seemed almost… softer.

And his smile. It was only small and slight but Gods did he have a gorgeous smile. Even more so because it still seemed tentative, almost nervous, and Merlin had never seen Arthur as nervous before, regardless of what form he was in.

"Hey," was all he said. Shortly. Quietly. Almost hesitantly.

Merlin ignored Morgana's snort from behind Arthur just as Arthur did. He was barely even aware that she and his mother still stood in the stable, an audience to their exchange. "Hi," he replied just as quietly, and couldn't help but smile in return as Arthur's own widened just a little, just enough to show a hint of teeth.

Then Merlin shook his head, incredulity settling upon him once more. "What are you doing here?"

He didn't mean to sound accusing, but thankfully Arthur didn't appear offended by his question. He didn't reply immediately, however, instead dropping his gaze down to his pocket as his hand abruptly dug inside. A moment later he extracted his fingers once more holding –

Merlin stared. He stared and blinked and then couldn't help but utter a short, incredulous start of laughter. He felt a smile of absolute merriment, of confusion and ridicule because _what the hell? Why had Arthur done that?_ spread widely across his lips. Merlin raised a hand to cover his face briefly before slipping it down across his lips, smothering his amusement. "Please don't tell me you went swimming in the dam in the middle of November to go and get _that_ ," he said, laughter bubbling in his voice.

Arthur didn't seem deterred in the slightest by Merlin's amusement. Far from it, his own smile only widened further for it. Waving Merlin's old phone slightly in the air, the gold of the case so faded and smeared that it was hardly recognisable as gold anymore, he shrugged. "I thought it had agreeable symmetry," he said.

"Agreeable symmetry?" Merlin echoed, raising an eyebrow.

Arthur nodded. "It was basically how we met. I figured it was sort of almost a… keepsake. A symbol. And seeing as I came here to tell you…"

He trailed off and Merlin found himself holding his breath behind the hand that still rested before his lips. It was stupid, the entire situation – really, what had possessed Arthur to go for a dip in the dam in search of an old, battered and broken phone was truly foolish? – but Merlin couldn't help but feel his heart swell for it. It was almost painful, pulsing warmth through his body with each rapid beat. Between that and the stare Arthur settled upon him, open and speaking more than words could, it was as though the world had fallen away around him.

Until Morgana spoke, that was. "How sentimental of you, Arthur," she said, her tone nothing if not mocking in its amusement. "I never would have picked it of you."

Immediately, as though he'd had some sense knocked into him, Arthur sighed and turned with a frown towards his sister once more. "Do you _mind,_ Morgana?" He said, repeating his early words.

Morgana only smiled like a satisfied cat. "Not in the slightest." She glanced past Arthur to Merlin and rolled her eyes. "Really, Merlin, I know we don't know one another but I must as you to please talk to him. I've had to sit through a six hour drive drowning beneath the floodgates of his talking of you. Honestly, why didn't we just fly?"

"You were the one who asked me about it," Arthur sighed in reply. "And you were the one who demanded you come along in the first place, though I still don't know how you knew I was going."

Morgana waved a hand in the air, disregarding Arthur's unasked question. "Hardly of consequence. And I didn't quite anticipate the duration of your monologue." She quirked her cat-like smile once more at Merlin. "Please do your best to sort out the damage you've apparently done to him, Merlin."

Despite her words, the accusation that they could have insinuated, Merlin didn't feel accused at all. In fact, talking to Arthur, hearing what he had to say – God, just _talking_ to him – sounded like a very good idea indeed.

Reaching forwards and wrapping his hand around Arthur's that still hled the broken phone, Merlin gave him a slight tug. He barely spared another glance for the clearly self-satisfied Morgana, for his mother where she was visibly suppressing her own smile, a hand unconsciously stroking Aithusa at Morgana's shoulder. "Come on, " he said as Arthur glanced towards him. "You're an idiot for swimming in the dam but I don't want you to get pneumonia or anything because of it."

Arthur followed immediately without a hint of restraint. "I'm the idiot?" He said. "Really, Merlin, out of the two of us I'm sure you win the award for the greatest idiocy."

Merlin's smile only widened as he drew Arthur after him up towards the house. He would never have suspected he would miss being insulted so much, but when Arthur said it… maybe it had something to do with the fact that instead of disdain there was something far, far warmer enriching the words.

Who'd have thought being called an idiot could ever sound so affectionate?

* * *

Arthur was bloody freezing. He could only be grateful when Merlin walked him into the dining room, stopped him with a deliberate staying of his hand, and disappeared to return with a new towel. The house was only marginally warmer than it was outside its walls; Arthur had months before become familiar with the Emerson habit of leaving all doors open when it's occupants worked outside.

True, it might not have been such a good idea to go swimming in the dam in the middle of November, but as he'd driven towards the estate but hours before, as Arthur spoke unstoppably of Merlin and recalled everything that had happened between them, it had seemed like a very natural thing to do. He'd been so caught up with thinking of everything he hadn't allowed himself to in the past weeks that he'd barely had the presence of mind to withhold some of that information from Morgana, Leon and Percival's collective ears the truth of the matter.

Hell, he still didn't want anyone to know he'd been a frog.

But Morgana had asked and suddenly Arthur couldn't help himself. He couldn't sway the direction of his thoughts and had only stuttered to a halt when Morgana had forcibly interrupted him not half an hour from the estate.

"You're in love," she'd stated matter-of-factly.

Arthur had been silenced. He'd stared at Morgana and could feel his eyes widening incredulously. Not so much because he denied the truth of that fact because Arthur already knew that. He'd reached that conclusion weeks before, could hardly think of anything but, despite never having experienced such a feeling before.

It was probably that more than anything that told Arthur the truth of the matter. He'd _never_ felt as he did for Merlin before, not for anyone. It wasn't simply about lust, about physical pleasure, though Arthur would be lying if he claimed he didn't think about that a whole lot as well. It was so much more; he just wanted to be with him, to talk to him, to tease him because to do so always provoked either an equally teasing reply or a laugh and smile of such genuine amusement that Arthur couldn't help but smile in return.

Merlin's smile, even the simple thought of it, always made Arthur want to do the same.

Arthur hadn't spoken a word after that to anyone else in the car but to offer redundant directions that the GPS was already voicing. When he'd met Hunith for the first time in what seemed like forever, when he'd spoken to her briefly and exchanged small, unspoken glances of agreement to keep mum on the nature of their familiarity with one another, he'd asked about Merlin. It had been harder not to ask immediately.

But Merlin wasn't back yet. That thought both frustrated and relieved Arthur, for though he sorely wished to see Merlin he didn't think it would be such an appropriate expression of his affection to verbally vomit his thoughts and feelings atop him in a garbled mess. Arthur was eloquent, knew he was an adept spokesperson, but he'd never felt as hesitant about how to approach a situation as he did now.

The ride helped. It was the first time Arthur had ridden one of the horses on Merlin's estate, and it was an exhilarating feeling. Even better because he'd always wanted to ride Llamrei, the regal white palomino mare a sight for sore eyes. She galloped just a fluidly and gracefully as she'd appeared to. Arthur would admit in this case that he might even be a little bit in love with the horse, too.

When Arthur arrived at the dam, he'd retrieved the phone in a horrifying experience that though he was glad he'd completed he was certainly not keen to repeat. The blast of cold water, a numbing shock to the system, seemed to instil some sense into him, however, and he actually felt calmer for it, despite the chill setting into his bones and eliciting a shiver moments after he'd climbed from the damn with phone in hand.

It was worth it, thought.

The appearance of the grass snake having somehow managed to clamber up onto the back of Llamrei's saddle was a startling experience in itself. Arthur had never been overly fond of snakes, but since he'd been a frog that unease had manifested into active dislike. It was only vague recognition of the creature – Kilgharrah, Merlin had called him – that stopped him from grabbing the nearest stick and beating the life out of him. Somehow, Arthur didn't think that revealing that he'd brutally killed one of Merlin's animal friends would be the way to initiate their reunion.

Seeing Merlin for the first time in weeks… it had taken Arthur's breath away. With a rational mind, Arthur had been aware that his memories of the estate, of Merlin himself, were likely brightened by retrospect and affection and not entirely truthful, but when it came to Merlin that reality didn't seem to equate. He was no different to how he'd always been, tall – infuriatingly just a little taller than Arthur – and muscular for the work he routinely laboured on the farm but not quite big for it. His familiar features, his sharp cheekbones, the guileless brightness of his eyes that though they didn't flash golden when he spoke to Arthur anymore were still captivating… all of it down to his familiar, long, slender fingers as they curled around Arthur's made him ache with longing and abruptly forget the existence of Morgana and Hunith behind him entirely. Arthur hardly even saw the worn, stained jeans and jacket that Merlin wore, hardly enough to judge it for its drabness; if anything, such a sight only flooded Arthur with further nostalgia, warmed him from deep within in a way that flooded straight to his fingertips and, though not quite chasing away his shivers, made them far easier to ignore.

Arthur would have followed Merlin back up to the house even had he not held his hand and practically dragged him the entire way. As he offered Arthur the second towel, Merlin was shaking his head, the touch of a smile still settled upon his lips as though as disbelieving as he was exasperated for the situation. Arthur accepted it wordlessly, draping it momentarily over his head and scrubbing at the dampness of his hair. He was only too relieved that he'd had the foresight to remove his clothes before jumping into the dam; they were still damp from where he'd had to dress himself once more before drying but he was almost certain he would have caught his death if not.

"I can't believe you actually went and got this out," Merlin said, standing before him with gaze downturned towards the old, broken phone in his hands. Arthur had been reluctant to be parted with it – he wasn't a sentimental person but for some reason he did _not_ want to give it up – but if it was to Merlin it was alright. "I actually can't believe you still remembered it at all."

"Of course I did," Arthur said, dropping the towel from his head to drape across his shoulders. "I had to lug it out of the water the first time as a frog, remember. That's not something I'm likely to forget."

Merlin's lips quivered in amusement, his gaze still downturned. "I still don't know what possessed you to think getting it was a good idea in the first place."

"It was a boon," Arthur replied.

"What kind of a boon takes the form of a broken phone?"

"Well, can you blame me? I was somewhat grasping at straws at the time."

Arthur didn't think he sounded defensive, for really, he didn't care all that much about the fact that Merlin had disregarded his efforts. Not anymore, anyway. It was hardly of consequence, especially considering that Merlin had helped him anyway.

But Merlin lifted his gaze with a touch of apology to his expression. "Yeah, true. It's the thought that counts anyway, I guess."

It was so typically Merlin, so honest and heartfelt and accepting, that Arthur couldn't help but take a slight step towards him. An upwelling of affection, of what Arthur disbelievingly yet with rapid understanding was coming to realise was that fabled 'love', rose within him. "You would say that," he murmured fondly.

Merlin glanced up at him and something in Arthur's expression must have been confusing, perhaps a little too immediate, for he raised a curious eyebrow. "What?"

"Nothing," Arthur replied with a shake of his head.

He didn't really know what to say. True, the ride had calmed him slightly, had put a stopper in the unprecedented and uncontrollable flow of emotions that had coursed through him. But Arthur still didn't know what to say. He'd never been in such a situation before. Ever.

Fortunately, whether for consideration or actual curiosity, Merlin provided an opening for him. "What are you doing here anyway, Arthur?"

There was hesitancy in his voice, a slight quirk to his lips that still smiled as though almost worried for what he might hear in reply. And suddenly, Arthur didn't care anymore. He didn't care about what would be appropriate approach, about how best to go about such a situation. He had something he wanted to say, and dammit, he'd never been one to suppress the urge to do what he wanted.

"I missed you," he said simply.

Merlin stared at him for a long moment. He didn't blink, not once, simply staring. His eyes widened slightly, almost as though he'd not been expecting it. Maybe he hadn't?

Arthur continued into his silence. "I was foolish, maybe, to leave as I did. When I didn't really want to." He shook his head, a little self-deprecatingly. "No, I shouldn't have left because I have too much that I needed to say to you. Starting with thank you, of course." Arthur offered his own smile into Merlin's open, staring expression. "I never really said it properly, I don't think."

Merlin blinked, as though once more confused for a moment before shaking his head slightly. "Oh. No, that's alright. I don't… you don't have to thank me –"

"But that's not the main thing," Arthur interrupted his quiet words. He wondered if it was his imagination that Merlin seemed a little disappointed for the thanks. "More than that, I really did miss you. And I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since I left."

Suddenly, it was so easy. Arthur had never spoken his feelings before, not like this, and mostly because he'd quite simply never had any _like this_ before. But it _was_ easy, and they flowed seamlessly, almost as though he'd prepared them.

"I miss you, Merlin," he said, holding Merlin's gaze as he felt his smile grow. "I miss your ridiculously early awakenings because I would always feel the need to be there with you when you did wake up. I miss your stupid vegan eggs and facon, and the way you'd always give me toast just a little undercooked because it was easier for me to eat when I was a frog. Don't think I didn't notice."

Merlin uttered a slight huff of laughter, more incredulous than amused, but he didn't speak. He didn't move from where he stood still and silent before Arthur, barely two steps away with the scavenged phone clasped between his hands. Arthur only felt the warmth spread through him more pronouncedly for it, driving away the chill on his skin further.

"I miss you're inane conversations that I couldn't help but participate in because they were utterly redundant but I enjoyed them anyway," he continued, feeling his lips curve further. He couldn't have withheld the smile had he wanted to. "I miss going for rides with you and nearly falling off because who in their right mind would take a frog on a horse? Except that you'd always manage to catch me if I fell.

"I miss trying to convince you that I actually knew what the hell any of your textbooks meant." Merlin actually uttered a faint laugh at that. "I miss learning about your stupid stable hands that for some reason you care for so completely that it even made me like them a little bit too. Fucking hell, I almost even miss being squirted by you in the face, just because you found it funny every single time, no matter how many times you did it."

Shaking his head – fuck did he sound pathetic, even if it was all true – Arthur momentarily dropped his gaze to his hands. They were clenched slightly before him, the only reflexive indication that Arthur had of himself that he was in any way nervous. Not that he let it touch him. Not that he paused even for an instant. "I've never really cared about anyone before, always living in the moment and not thinking about the past or the future. But I can't seem to forget about you, Merlin. About what you did for me. About how I… feel for you."

Arthur didn't pause after that as he stepped forwards. He didn't wait to ask. And maybe he should have. Maybe it would have been the polite thing to do, the right thing to do, but Arthur had never really been one to do the 'right' thing. He was selfish, he chased what he wanted, and what he wanted… what he wanted more than anything else in the world right now was Merlin.

And maybe, just maybe from what he could tell, from what he'd read in a way that he never had from anyone else – maybe Merlin wanted him back. The wariness and dismissal, the aversion that Arthur had feared seeing from him for the entirety of the trip from London, was absented entirely. Surprise, yes, but perhaps even joy had been what Arthur had beheld when he first saw Merlin.

He crossed those final steps between them, raised his hands to the side of Merlin's face and drew his face towards him. Merlin's eyes were widened further, surprised and blinking a little dumbly, and very blue without the faintest touch of gold. But Arthur didn't care. They were perfect, and wide, and slightly dumbly surprised. Merlin was an idiot, but Arthur loved him for that too. God, he never thought he'd love an idiot but –

He never really thought he'd love anyone. Not before Merlin. Suddenly that realisation was overwhelming, too much to contain. "I love you, Merlin."

They were close enough that Arthur could feel Merlin's sharp exhalation touch his cheeks, brushing across his lips in another little huff. Arthur was close enough to hear the barest whisper, to smell the warmth of him, to notice the smallest changes in his expression as he said it, but he doubted he would have needed to be so close to have seen. The sound of the phone slipping from Merlin's fingers, clattering onto the ground, was barely a passing thought. Arthur didn't care; sentimental or not, in that moment he didn't care a lick.

Merlin's face changed. He'd always had startling features; Arthur had acknowledged as much when he'd first met him, even if he hadn't really appreciated them. Wide, guileless eyes, sharp cheekbones alongside a sharp nose, pointed chin and his lips… Arthur certainly hadn't considered that he'd wanted to kiss them when they'd first met. Nothing of the sort had even crossed his mind, yet it was definitely making up for lost time now.

Yes, maybe Arthur should have paused. Maybe it would have been polite and right to wait, to talk out his feelings with Merlin, to express to him on a deeper level, a more comprehensible level, that he _did_ love him. That he'd never loved anyone quite like he did Merlin and it had only taken his sister's merciless and intrusive prodding to prove as much to him. But Arthur didn't wait. Instead, he leaned towards Merlin, eyes slipping naturally closed, and pressed his lips against Merlin's in a soft, gentle and entirely chaste kiss.

Arthur had kissed a lot of people. He knew he had, and that it was an exceptional amount even. Nimueh hadn't been lying what now seemed so long ago when she'd called him philandering. Arthur was, at least before. But things had changed. _He'd_ changed, significantly over the past months, and in that moment… in that moment Arthur would have been quite content to never kiss anyone else in the world. No one else so long as he had Merlin.

Was it supposed to be different with the one you loved? Maybe.

Merlin was frozen for a moment. Only for a moment, however, and Arthur didn't even have a chance to be plagued by second thoughts and regrets for his action, because then Merlin's hands were rising, one to grasp Arthur's wrist and the other to press against the hand cupping Merlin's face. He drew into Arthur, parting his lips with tongue slipping out to stroke just gently, almost tentatively against Arthur's and yes, dammit, it _definitely_ was different with the one he loved. Different and so, so much better.

Arthur lost himself in Merlin, in deepening their kiss into an impassioned mess of tongues and sucking lips. He fell prey to the intoxication of warm breath meeting his own, of the brief glimpses of Merlin's face as he fluttered his eyes open before closing them once more to lose himself to pure sensation. He drew an arm down from Merlin's face to loop around his back, falling to his waist and drawing him closer towards him, and it had never felt so right to be pressed so closely to another person before, not an inch between them. Arthur would be happy never to move again.

"I love you," he found himself murmuring into Merlin's lips. "I do. I love you." For words he'd never spoken before, after that first time they seemed to come infinitely easier. Even more so when each gasping repetition drew a stuttering breath from Merlin in return, caused him to press himself against Arthur as he sunk into their kiss and wrapped his arms around Arthur in turn. Even better when –

"I love you too."

Arthur froze. He froze and his eyes snapped open to stare at where Merlin had drawn barely a handbreadth away from him to whisper his reply. His eyes were still closed but at Arthur's sudden immobility they in turn fluttered open to peer at him from so close, so incredibly close that Arthur could almost see his own reflection in them. A slow smile spread across his face until the familiar dimple impressed in his cheek, setting his face aglow. Arthur had never seen anything more beautiful, more incredible, in his entire life and it was only made better when Merlin uttered a small laugh and pressed his lips briefly against Arthur's with another murmur of, "I love you too".

Arthur didn't care that he was still drenched. He didn't care that it was cold outside and that cold pervaded the dining room and chilled his toes in his socks through the cool floorboards. Rich warmth flooded through him that chased away every hint of iciness, growing from his chest and spreading like tendrils of light to his very fingertips.

 _I love you too._

Love was… Arthur had never had that before and he was only now realising how foolish he was for not realising just how much he was missing.

Merlin startled, loosing a squawk of surprise when Arthur pressed a short, fast kiss upon his lips, pressing his entire body against him with such sudden urgency that he drove him backwards in a series of stumbling paces. Arthur felt him jolt against the edge of the table, but Merlin wasn't complaining so he hardly considered it. Arthur pressed himself against Merlin for a moment, chest to chest, drawing his arms around him once more to feel him, the warmth of his skin through his jacket, the faint throb of a heartbeat, the frantic tangle of kisses that Arthur could lose himself in for an age. But still… it just didn't feel close enough.

Merlin loosed another startled, wordless exclamation when Arthur wrapped his arms tightly around him and in a sudden lift drew him off his feet until he could fall easily back to sitting on the table. Arthur only smiled up at him as Merlin leaned backwards slightly to peer down upon Arthur in turn. His arms didn't loosen from around Arthur, however, not even slightly. "Do you mind? My mother eats on this table."

Arthur couldn't help but smirk, pressing in more closely into him. In a motion so casual and comfortable that it almost caught Arthur's breath, Merlin naturally untucked his legs to allow him to slide in between them. Close. Close was good. Close was far better. "Well, I figured since you've picked me up so many times in the past it was only fair that I return the favour," he said, wrapping his arms more comfortably around Merlin's waist.

"Those were entirely different circumstances."

"Are you really complaining? If it bothers you I can apologize to your mother after this."

Merlin snorted, drawing his arms further around Arthur's shoulders and leaning into him in turn even as Arthur settled against him. "No thank you. I don't think I ever want my mum to know about my sex life."

"Sex life?" Arthur said, quirking an eyebrow suggestively.

Merlin cocked his head as he peered down at him. "Well, I'm not one to assume –"

"I call bullshit to that."

Smiling, Merlin ignored him to continue. "But I would _assume_ as much given that sex is often the direction a romantic relationship leads to. Unless…" He trailed off, smile dying slightly as he pursed his lips.

Arthur tightened his arms around his waist, pressing gently against him. Talking about sex wasn't exactly doing his mental state any good. He wasn't a lust-blown teenager to spark at any mention of it, for his mind to drop into his nether-regions in an instant, but this was with Merlin and fuck if it wasn't _different_. He couldn't remember ever wanting something – some _one_ – so much in his life. His fingers didn't seem able to stop grazing across Merlin's back, across the hem of his shirt, curving around his waist to draw along his thigh and simply touch. Arthur wasn't ashamed to admit that he was well and truly turned on. He wanted. He wanted badly, and if the heat flooding to his groin was any indication it wasn't just a psychological desire.

At least Arthur gratified with the realisation that Merlin felt the same. It was a little hard to miss with such proximity. But Merlin had said… "What?" Arthur asked. "Unless what?"

Merlin peered at him sceptically for a moment. He seemed torn between amusement and resignation, something almost like despair seeping into the mix, which Arthur was not particularly happy to behold given their situation. Not in the slightest. Merlin had a stupid smile, wide and encompassing his entire expression, and Arthur loved it. He'd seen it in his mind all too much over the past weeks. Months. He wanted that back. "It's just…"

"What?" Arthur prompted once more, offering a little, exasperated sigh.

Merlin sighed in turn. "Have you ever even been with a bloke before, Arthur?"

Arthur blinked silently for a moment. That was what he was worried about? "Are you serious?"

"Hey, it's a serious question. It's not exactly a common preference to have tried –"

"You're asking _me_ that?"

Further amusement and just a touch of exasperation that caused his eyes to roll rapidly overwhelmed Merlin's expression. "I do believe that's what I've just done, yes."

Arthur settled himself more firmly against Merlin until there wasn't even a whisker of space between them, tilting his head up towards him. He lifted an arm from Merlin's waist to the back of Merlin's head to tug him down into a brief, warm kiss. "Merlin, I don't even give a shit about that sort of thing."

"Hey, I'm just saying," Merlin murmured against his lips, his own quivering with his rapidly rising amusement. "You were the one who seemed surprised when I told you I was gay."

"Would it bother you if I said I'd been with another bloke before?" Arthur asked. "Or… blokes?"

Merlin paused with his lips nearly against Arthur's. Arthur was close enough to see the momentarily thoughtful clouding of his eyes before they cleared into a raised eyebrow. "Would be a little hypocritical of me, wouldn't it?"

"That it would be," Arthur agreed.

"Although you're one to talk. Should I be jealous?"

"If you want to be," Arthur said with a shrug. "I'm certainly not stopping you. It's pointless, but you can be if you want to be." He pressed another brief kiss on Merlin's lips.

"Pointless how?" Merlin asked.

Arthur paused, drawing away slightly until he could behold the entirety of Merlin's face without risk of losing himself in meeting his eyes. "Because. I love you. I don't want anyone else." He paused, then for emphasis added, "Ever."

All the amusement faded from Merlin's expression in that moment. His face grew as serious as Arthur had ever seen it, serious in a different way to what he'd previously seen yet somehow simultaneously softened. The smallest of smiles touched his lips in a way that Arthur immediately wanted to capture with his own. "Seriously?" Merlin murmured, almost as though he didn't believe it.

In reply, Arthur only leaned into him once more, curling his fingers around the back of Merlin's head to draw him towards him once more, and pressed another kiss upon his lips. This time he didn't stop. He didn't let go. Blessedly, Merlin didn't seem to want him to.

Arthur couldn't get close enough. Even pressed as he was against Merlin, quite literally touching at every possible point, he longed to be closer. Merlin's foot hooked around the back of his knee, coiling around his leg like a strangling vine. Arthur wasn't complaining in the slightest, not even when the barest touch of Merlin's toes against his leg seemed to turn his knees to jelly.

He locked his arms around Merlin with no intention of ever letting go. He lost himself in the soft warmth of his lips, the sweetness of whatever Merlin had for lunch just detectable on his tongue. Unconsciously, almost needily, Arthur found himself rocking his hips against him, the heat in his belly only seeming to grow with every increasingly breathless moment he sunk into Merlin's mouth until it was almost too hot.

Arthur's fingers slid beneath Merlin's shirt, grazing along his spine and eliciting a shiver even as Merlin's own fingers hooked in the waistband of his trousers and enticed goosebumps of their own from his skin. Arthur had always admired Merlin's fingers. Now he simply loved them.

It wasn't enough. It would never be enough, not until they'd shared it all, and maybe not even then. Arthur knew that, knew it on an innate level, in a way that just clicked, in the same way that he'd known that he truly did love Merlin from the moment the notion hit him with the force of a colliding semi-trailer. He wanted him desperately, in every way, and the rocking and rutting, the inadequate friction and tightness it invoked in his groin – it wasn't enough. Arthur thought he might have even spoken as much, whispering it into Merlin's lips in the bare seconds that he could manage to draw away from him to gasp a breath. He though Merlin might have murmured the same.

But all good things must come to an end. Too prematurely, it would seem, and Arthur had long ago learned that more often than not his abrupt and frustrated 'end' was a result of Morgana.

"Oh, hell, Arthur, do you mind?"

In an instant, the second her sharp words struck him from the doorway behind him, Arthur groaned. _Fucking hell, too right_ , he had the moment to think before Merlin was drawing away from him and leaving him thoroughly unsatisfied for even the minimal distance between them, the lack of contact, the absence of a much needed pressure in a much, much needed area.

Already adopting a scowl yet unwilling to unlock his arms from around Merlin, Arthur turned towards his sister. "Morgana," he began, but she cut him off in typical Morgana style.

"You abandon me outside on my own and then proceed to make happy with the subject of your pathetic pining?" Morgana's hands were propped on her hips like a scolding mother, and in many ways she was. Morgana was as much of mother as a sister to Arthur. Much to his regret, too.

"You're a big girl, I'm sure you can look after yourself," Arthur replied.

Morgana's glare was just as sharp as Arthur's own, he was sure. "Such a gentleman you are, Arthur. I'm so proud of you."

Before Arthur could reply, before he even got the chance to turn back to Merlin and offer an apology both for the interruption and for his sister in general, Hunith appeared alongside Morgana in the doorway. She was shorter than Morgana was but it was impossible to overlook her presence in the room just as much as Arthur's sister was impossible to ignore.

Hunith paused just inside the doorway, glancing towards Arthur, to Merlin, to Morgana. She didn't appear fazed by Arthur and Merlin's compromising position in the slightest. "Oh?" She said, as though only mildly surprised. "Is something the matter?"

Morgana was instantly sweet, the cordial, formulaic façade of a well-to-do princess adopted once more as she turned towards Hunith with a smile. "Not at all, Mrs Emerson. Just a conversation with my wayward brother."

"Wayward?" Arthur asked with a snort. He would be folding his arms across his chest right now in indignation except for the fact that he didn't think it was possible to let go Merlin just yet. Maybe not ever, regardless of the fact that Merlin's mother was standing _right there_.

Morgana shot him a glare that Hunith didn't appear to notice. Or maybe she noticed but simply chose to ignore it. She started into the room, heading in the general direction of the kitchen with an understanding nod towards Morgana. "Of course. I have a younger brother myself; we had something of a similar relationship as the two of you, I should think."

"I doubt that," Arthur muttered beneath his breath. Even without thinking himself exceptional Arthur knew that what he and Morgana shared was something unusual. Not so much the cock-blocking – which Morgana had somehow managed to refine to an art – but the antagonism. That was something other, Arthur was sure.

"Would you like something to eat the both of you?" Hunith asked, disappearing into the kitchen. "And Merlin, off the table please."

"Sorry Mum," Merlin muttered, his cheeks reddening just slightly in a way that Arthur couldn't help but notice and consider entirely delightful. He'd never seen Merlin blush before. He slipped down from the table, still caught within Arthur's grasp, as Morgana replied with an almost simpering, "We wouldn't want to trouble you, Mrs Emerson."

"It's no trouble," Hunith called back. "Really, it would be my pleasure. I always cook for Tyr and his boys and girls that come to work in the stables, so another few mouths to feed is no trouble."

Morgana smiled even without Hunith present as a recipient. "Then that would be wonderful. Thank you."

"My pleasure," Hunith repeated. Then she appeared as little more than a head sticking through the doorway and turned a pointed glance towards Merlin. Abruptly Arthur was very aware that he was still in something of a compromising state. The warmth hadn't quite been vanquished from his belly by his sister's interruption, the tingling in his fingertips not abated and the desire to touch every part of Merlin far from diminished, and Arthur felt a sudden and unexpected uneasiness for that fact. Being caught in the act had never particularly bothered him before but this was _Merlin_ , and it was Merlin's _mother_.

Hunith didn't say anything, however. She only raised an eyebrow at Merlin, glancing briefly towards Arthur in what appeared more of a suggestion than a reprimand. "Perhaps you'd like to show Arthur to the shower?" She suggested. "I can't imagine you'll want to be sitting in dried dam scum for the rest of the day, Arthur."

Arthur could only agree with that sentiment. Dried dam scum did not sound particularly appealing at all. But more importantly than that, Merlin was slipping from his hold, grabbing onto his hand and immediately set about all but dragging him from the room. "That's probably a good idea," he said, voice a little rushed. "Yeah, um, yeah, I'll just show you where the shower is, Arthur, and grab you a towel or something…"

He trailed off as they slipped past Morgana. Morgana herself watched them pass with a knowingly raised eyebrow, lips puckered just slightly and eyes a little narrowed. It could have been Arthur's imagination, but he swore there was a touch of satisfaction to her expression.

Not that he cared. Arthur didn't much care for anything besides the feel of Merlin's long fingers in his own, the gentle tugging of his arm, the sheepish grin he spared Arthur over his shoulder when they'd taken themselves out of sight of Morgana and the dining room. Arthur was entirely content to follow in his wake, even though he really, really didn't have to. Living for over two months in the Emerson estate had more than acquainted Arthur with its layout, even if it was a different experience to walk through it as a human of markedly larger size than a frog.

But Arthur didn't object. He would follow Merlin just about anywhere. He knew that now, accepted it as he'd very rarely accepted anything with such certainty. Arthur saw the opportunity. He saw the passing chance and he took it, like he always did.

He didn't pause to wonder why this one felt so much different to the rest of them.


	11. Chapter 11 - Fulfilment

A/N: Final chapter! So this was a massively quickly updated story, but I hope everyone enjoyed it. I just wanted to say a huge thank you to every reader and reviewer for taking the time, with especial thanks to those who have reviewed time and time again - **mersan123, Dee, Troilus,** **Arise Sir Knigh** **t**... you guys can't imagine how awesome it feels to recognise your names so thank you so much! _  
_

 **Chapter 11: Fulfilment**

The room was relatively small. Small and sleekly sparse, yet each and every article of furniture within bespoke expense paid, almost breathing wealth. The couches were dark leather worked until softened, the coffee table deep, polished African Blackwood. Even the Persian rug that lathered the floor in muted tones and patterns would have cost thousands,

Arthur thought the reporters and interviewing team must have been compensating for something. The rented house, an antique manor that should have been used as a museum rather than a site for interviews, was bedecked in garnishing to befit kings. That's what it felt like, anyway, to Arthur's trained eye. He was familiar with wealth and grandeur from Baenwyn Castle, had grown up with it all of his life; Arthur knew expensive when he saw it. It used to be all he would accept.

Now he had grown a taste for a somewhat less stupendous. Homely was far preferable to furnishings practically gold-plated. At least, that was something he'd come to realise in the past year.

The team behind the camera were silent, even their muted exchanges seeming little more than a quiver of lips with no real sound audible. Some of them were familiar, Arthur registered, though only vaguely. He felt like he knew some of them from last year's pre-Christmas interviews, but couldn't be sure. He thought he recognised the interviewer too, but again, the thought slipped his mind. Maybe she was from the year before too? Arthur couldn't remember that far back, hadn't a second thought to spare on the identity of those who asked him practically the same questions every year. It wasn't like he cared, not personally and even impersonally not all that much but...

He'd been told – or 'suggested', as was euphemistically phrased – that he should make more of an effort for people whose livelihood practically hinged upon his responses. Not that Arthur would cave and give them what they wanted, and certainly not when they pried so fiercely, but he was making an effort. Because he'd been told. Suggested.

"... most recent endeavours in Pendragon & Co. have been following the trend of this past year," the interviewer was saying. Marie Masters, her name was. Or Mittens. Makins? M something. She was a tall woman, somewhere in her early thirties, with an open face and unnecessarily wide eyes as though she sought to pry Arthur's reply from him for the sharpness of her gaze. "Should we be expecting such trends to continue?"

Arthur bit back a sigh. Really, was it all that important? Did he really have to reply to a question that was, in essence, entirely self-explanatory? The King's business was booming, had increased it's profits by a significant margin in the past twelve months, and Arthur didn't think himself arrogant to consider that the reason for such could be attributed to his greater role and investment in the company itself. Since his father had recognised his supposed 'maturity' and deemed it commendable, he'd been loading more and more onto Arthur's plate.

Not that Arthur really minded. The more in control of a situation he was the more content he would always feel. Such was the way. Such had always been the way and likely always would be. Even more so after Arthur's little brush with magic over a year ago. Arthur had gladly accepted the additional responsibilities because running a company, directing his subordinates, running rings around the puffed-up businessmen and pinning everything to his own schedule as he liked it was how Arthur was most comfortable.

And the business was flourishing. The benefits were unmistakeable. Arthur knew he was smart, knew he was politically and business savvy. There really was no arrogance in the recognition that his own actions had played a significant role in boosting the progress of the company.

Arthur could have replied with an exasperated huff, rolled his eyes and shaken his head at the redundancy of the question. But he didn't. He didn't because he'd been told. Suggested. Not that Arthur had ever really done what he'd been told, and he still wouldn't, but – well, not for almost everyone, anyway. One person in particular could practically request anything of him and he would readily oblige. Probably more readily because he knew Merlin would never ask unless he was truly wanted it.

This time, Merlin had teasingly asked him to 'play nice'. It had seemed almost a challenge the way he'd voiced it, and Arthur couldn't help but take it as such. So he did. He played nice. Arthur adopted a smile that he knew from practicing in the mirror lacked the strain he felt and nodded obligingly. "That's the intention, yes."

"To my understanding, you yourself have had a significant role in bringing about this change. Even more so than would be expected of a VP. Is that not so?"

Another redundant question. Arthur nodded, maintaining his smile. "I'd like to think so. Although I'm not blind enough to think that I'm the only one who's made an impact. That would be a little presumptuous of me, I think, especially given my sister's contribution."

Makins laughed as though he'd spoken in jest. "Yes, Princess Morgana claimed as much in my previous interview with her."

 _Then why are you asking me the exact same questions?_ Arthur didn't say. Instead he only nodded once more, silent and waiting for the interviewer to continue. After a moment of pause, apparently registering that Arthur hadn't any intention of speaking further, she continued. "There have been rumours circulating of the catalyst for your change in attitude, Arthur. Can you elaborate upon this further?"

There it was. The same question, in some way, shape or form, that had been asked of him countless times over the past year. Increasingly since suspicions as to the validity of his long-term relationship mounted. Each time Arthur replied the same way. "I'd rather not."

Unfortunately, as always happened, his evasion sparked something akin to hunger in Makins' too-wide eyes. "You've been particularly private about the nature of your relationship with your partner."

Arthur nodded. "I have. And I'd rather keep it that way."

"Your partner has a preference for -?"

"My partner's preferences are of little consequence to anyone but my partner," Arthur interrupted her, and he could almost see the frustration well in place of Makins' hunger. "I'd rather not discuss it."

Merlin didn't mind. He said he didn't mind if he was drawn into the spotlight because of Arthur, because of the relationship they shared. He said he found it funny more than anything, which was something that Arthur could at least readily believe because Merlin seemed to take most things lightly. But Arthur wasn't oblivious enough to believe that such was the entire truth. Merlin might not mind it for Arthur's sake, but he didn't particularly like it. He'd never been one to put himself forward for attention, to actively seek to draw the eyes of others. Arthur didn't need to have known him his entire life to understand that much.

Merlin had asked him to play nice. Had challenged him months ago to "Be polite, if you can manage it", and dammit, but Arthur would. Except in this instance. Merlin should be allowed his privacy. Just because it was Arthur he was dating didn't mean he should be bereft. So Arthur always replied the same way.

"On that subject -" Makins reattempted.

"I'd rather not talk about it," Arthur repeated mildly. He wasn't being mean – Arthur knew very well how to be mean – but he wouldn't let her have her way either.

"For your partner's privacy?" Makins said. She was like a dog with a bone, like so many other interviewers Arthur had encountered. How exactly had they gotten from the topic of business to love life? "It's assumed that they're not someone who frequents political circles?"

"I'd really rather not elaborate," Arthur said calmly.

"But perhaps -"

"I'd rather not."

"Do you think -?"

"If this is another question about my partner, I'll answer it for you," Arthur interrupted her once more. "No comment."

Makins' lips thinned, the barest touch of a frown settling upon her brow. Arthur knew how to play nice, how to be polite, but in this instance he chose not to. And just this once – no, just as in every other similar situation – he didn't really mind being offensive. Arthur would never admit it, for it would be a give-away of that particular character trait, but he was more than a little satisfied by his ability to silence the interviewer. To silence every interviewer. He called it an art.

"Someone's looking awfully satisfied with themselves," Morgana said as she stepped to his side not ten minutes later. She held a cup of tea in her hand, apparently having forsaken her usual habit of etiquette-driven tea-sitting to approach him for prodding. Arthur could have expected as much, could almost anticipate exactly what his sister would say to him.

He raised his frowning gaze from his phone, discarding the message he'd half-written in favour of closing the screen into privacy. The words he'd been relaying were one of the few ways he managed to maintain any semblance of politeness in the face of the utterly frustrating reporters that asked inane and repetitive questions. Morgana would most certainly have somehow managed to read over his shoulder had he not ensured as much was kept under lock and key. No one else in the moderately cluttered room of attendants, bodyguards – Leon and Percival both were stationed not half a room away – and reporters would dare. But then, Morgana hadn't ever really had much of a care for Arthur's boundaries. Not when it came to Merlin, anyway. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, don't play the simpleton with me, Arthur," Morgana said, raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow as she took another delicate sip of her tea. "Masters looked thoroughly put out when I passed her a minute ago, and it doesn't take a genius to discern why."

Masters, then, not Makins. Well, he'd been close. "Is that why you've reached the conclusions you have?" Arthur deadpanned, idly tapping his phone onto his opposite palm. "You're admitting your intellectual inferiority now, are you?"

Morgana offered him a pointed stare and didn't deign to reply to his suggestion. "No prize for guessing that it was a question about Merlin that got your hackles up?"

"Your perceptive skills are incredible," Arthur muttered, turning fully towards her and folding his arms across his chest. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," Morgana said coolly. Then she brushed aside her disgruntlement with a sigh and a roll of her eyes as she lowered her cup to the windowsill beside them. "Honestly, you'd think they'd learn they weren't going to get anything out of you after nearly a whole year of this 'coveted relationship' act."

Arthur shrugged. He didn't need to reply to that. They both knew the truth of Morgana's words. She continued a moment later. "How they manage to jump to the subject of your love life will always remain a mystery to me. Or at least why they care about _yours_."

"I've asked myself the same thing more times than I can count," Arthur agreed. "I take it you've been similarly assaulted?"

Morgana nodded, pursing her lips as she directed a frown across the room. Arthur noted it was trained upon someone dressed in the suit of what was practically a reporter's uniform and wondered if the man was the source of her complaints. "Why _my_ love life should in any way naturally segue into yours is ludicrous."

Arthur smirked, momentarily distracted from his interview-induced frustration. Ah. Now he realised why she was put out. "Well, you and Helios have been an item for years now. It's hardly interesting anymore."

Morgana trained a flat stare upon him but, as was her tendency, pointedly ignored his quip. "I take it you were messaging Merlin, then?" She asked.

Arthur unconsciously flipped his phone between his fingers before wedging it into the crook of his elbow. "Now what would make you think that?"

"You always whinge to him when you're sitting for interviews."

"I don't whinge."

"And you've just given yourself away," Morgana said idly. Then she nodded in a gesture towards his phone. "Tell Merlin I'll be more than happy to take him up on his offer of an early Christmas dinner at Hunith's."

Arthur bit back a groan, had to momentarily close his eyes in annoyance. He wasn't in a particularly good mood as it was, certainly not after the irritation provoked from the interviews and their probing questions. Of all the things he regretted, bringing Morgana with him the first time he'd returned to the Emerson estate was one of them. It was an increasingly prominent one of them, too, even if it wasn't really a regret of his own making. Arthur had hardly had a choice in the matter of her accompaniment. "Please no," he muttered with little really hope.

Morgana's lips curled in her satisfaction. "Are you really going to deprive me of Hunith's company?"

"You mean the opportunity to shame me in front of your future in-laws?"

"Oh, are you and Merlin engaged now? I hadn't heard."

"Shut up, Morgana," Arthur grumbled. He didn't bother denying her words. Morgana knew that particular step hadn't yet been taken. She'd likely somehow know even before Arthur, what with her weird perceptiveness thing.

He was distracted a moment later, however, when his phone buzzed in a call. Arthur didn't even need to glance at the screen to know it was Merlin. He pressed it to his ear with a sigh. "Please tell me you have a shotgun somewhere on your farm?"

Merlin gave a short burst of laughter. "Why? Who do you need to kill, exactly? Tell me it's not some poor reporter."

"You make sure you tell him I'm coming, Arthur," Morgana said, loud enough that there would be no way Merlin could miss her words.

"I take it Morgana's the target of your displeasure, then?" Merlin asked. "Was that about the Christmas dinner? I don't think Mum would be too happy if you offed her at the table. That's not really in the spirit of things."

Arthur turned from his sister, taking a step away from her. "Morgana apologises. She said she'd love to come but she can't make it."

"Arthur, remember I know where you live," Morgana warned from behind him.

She's very sorry," Arthur continued, ignoring his sister as he took slow steps away from her. "She also has no intention of making it up, however. Unfortunate, that."

"I know where he lives too, Arthur," Morgana called after him.

"Please tell me you have that shotgun," Arthur said.

Merlin only laughed once more. As it always did, just that simple sound made Arthur's day that much brighter. Certainly bright enough to struggle through the seemingly endless throngs of interviewers. Arthur would do pretty much anything for that.

* * *

 _"Have a holly jolly Christmas, and unless you didn't hear. Oh by golly have a holly jolly Christmas this year!"_

Merlin groaned as Gwaine's flat singing voice overwhelmed that of Michael Bublé rippling from his mother's old radio. Gwaine was so tone deaf that it was a miracle he could even sing at all. He was smiling though, exchanging a smile with his mother as they both swept around one another in the kitchen, juggling pans and platters, bowls filled with the cold serves that they'd already ladled out in preparation for dinner as they took them to the dining room. Most of the guests had already arrived and it was getting late as it was.

"Jesus, Gwaine, you haven't gotten any better with your singing over the years," Balinor said as he entered the dining room, dusting his hands from where Merlin knew he'd been laying the fire once more. He was always picky with ensuring the fire was well and truly crackling by nine o'clock on the dot every night in winter.

Gwaine glanced up from where he was dutifully and with an artful flourish of his fingers setting the table with the silverware. "It's all in the spirit that determines how good a song is," he said unnecessarily loudly, pausing to stand up straight and prop his hands upon his hips. "And I'm about as enthusiastic as they come."

"Where the fuck did you come up with that idea from?" Will asked from across the table from him. He was placing the wine glasses with far less flamboyancy than Gwaine was enacting, but to Merlin's eye it didn't appear any less efficient and successful. "You're fucking tone deaf, Gwaine."

"Language," Hunith called over her shoulder as she disappeared back into the kitchen.

"Sorry, Hunith."

Merlin shook his head as he lowered one of the bowls he juggled to the table. He could only agree with Will's sentiment, however, and with that of his father; Gwaine might have once been a theatre major but singing was far from his strong suit. In that regard at least Merlin considered that Law suited him far better.

It was a little early to be having a Christmas dinner, Merlin speculated. Christmas itself wasn't for another week, but it was one of the few times that they could coordinate all of their family to dine at the same time. And by family, Merlin meant his _entire_ family.

Tyr, his wife, two kids and an all half-dozen of the rest of the stable hands were sitting in the living room, partaking of beers and wine in equal doses as though it were water. Their ruckus could be heard down the hallway from where Merlin, Hunith, Will and Gwaine had left them moments before to serve up.

Will had taken to living at Merlin's house over the Christmas break once more, despite the fact that it was further for him to travel to work. Apparently his younger sister was insufferable in her Christmas cheer, which Merlin could understand might be a little distressing for Will. He'd never been exactly a 'cheerful' person.

Gwaine was all but living with them once more, too. He'd visited his family briefly, but they were all as flighty as one another and had reportedly taken a trip to Spain for the holidays. Gwaine didn't want to go, had claimed that a big reason for that was because of the 'Emerson Christmas dinner' which, strange as it may seem, Merlin actually believed.

Lance appeared moments later, slipping silently through the door with arms laden beneath crockery. He'd come up from London for Christmas as he always did and slipped back into living with them so easily that it was as though he'd never gone. Lance was always like that, was simply so easy to be around. Merlin was happy to have him back, even if it was only briefly. He really was like an older brother, and Merlin missed having him around.

He wondered if Lance would consider inviting Gwen next year. If she could make it, of course. There had been no public announcement declaring Princess Guinevere to be officially in a relationship with anyone, but Merlin knew better. It was impossible not to realise when listening to Lance speak of her. They were both stepping the longest bloody courtship dance Merlin had ever seen.

Merlin was looking forward to that, though. He looked forward to the time when Lance felt comfortable enough to invite Gwen back to his home rather than merely being concerned for what the world would think of a princess dating someone who was decidedly less than royal. Merlin could relate to that only too well, although it was something that was concerning him less and less these days.

Arthur was yet to come, something that Will had complained about profusely, accusing him of laxness that he "Couldn't even make it at the designated time". Merlin didn't mind. He would have perhaps minded more had Arthur not called him earlier that day and grumbled about how his father had called a board meeting for that afternoon and yes, he would attempt to escape it with all possible haste but he couldn't be sure how soon they would manage. That, and the fact that Morgana had demanded she come along, her partner Helios in tow and her own permanent bodyguard because apparently royalty weren't supposed to visit isolated estates in the far north of their country without accompaniment.

Merlin knew Arthur would have his own, too. That it would certainly be Leon or Percival if not the both of them Merlin suspected as being a primary reason for Gwaine forgoing the trip to Spain with his family. Merlin still couldn't quite work out what their relationship was – no one could, not even Leon or Percival, apparently, from what Arthur had told him – but it hardly mattered. Gwaine seemed to be enjoying himself in their company.

Another shout from the living room, followed by cries of laughter, momentarily drew Merlin's attention from placing down his last bowl. The sound was warm, comforting, the presence of many familiar friends and loved ones seeming to enrich the house in a way that always made Merlin's mother smile. It made Merlin smile too; he really did love them all as though they were an extension of his own family.

He was distracted once more a moment later as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He drew it out immediately, thumbing it alive and scanning the text that flashed across the screen.

 _Open the door, my princess dear, open the door to thy true love here._

Merlin snorted, shaking his head as he always did for what was quite frequently that message or some derivative of it. Arthur called Merlin an idiot almost as frequently as he did his own name, but really, _he_ was the more foolish of the two of them.

"Are they here?" Balinor asked, appearing at Merlin's side with a sceptically raised eyebrow, glancing down at Merlin's phone.

Merlin nodded, barely sparing him a glance as he started from the dining hall. "I'll let them in."

"Punctuality would be appreciated," Balinor grunted behind him. He sounded almost like Will for his objection.

"Yeah, well, princes and princesses, unlike the rest of us, happen to have a bit more to manoeuvre around on their plates," Merlin replied nonchalantly, ignoring the frown that settled upon his father's face. He didn't spare him another glance as he started down the hallway.

Merlin and Balinor had reached a tentative state of acceptance of one another in recent months. Or at least Merlin had for Balinor, for his father hadn't appeared particularly fazed or disgruntled by anything much when it came to Merlin. Or at least he hadn't until he'd realised that Merlin and Arthur were dating, and he'd suddenly had a problem with it. Why, Merlin could only guess at – was it because Arthur as a public figure was still questionable? Because he was a prince? Because he at times requested in what was almost a plea for Merlin to come and visit him despite having to juggle university at the same time? Merlin wasn't sure.

Not that he cared, though. As far as Merlin was concerned, his relationship with Arthur shouldn't have to consider anyone much but he and Arthur. True, he'd been slow in coming to that realisation, the thought that Arthur was _a prince_ and _fuck, he's actually a prince, what the hell do I even -?_ But that had faded over time. Now, Merlin knew he was much of a same mind as Arthur was; in this instance at least, he didn't think they should have to consider anyone else's opinions but their own.

It helped the situation and Merlin's leniency that he wasn't quite as annoyed with Balinor as he had been. That annoyance had faded slowly the longer Balinor stayed and the longer he seemed to want to stay. Merlin could almost believe it would be permanent, even if he didn't want to hold to that thought with any exceptional consideration. He could never been too careful of changes, even if Balinor had stuck around for more than year now.

The shadow of several figures were visible through the glass front of the door as Merlin descended the hallway. Someone managed to press the doorbell before he got the chance to open it, however. Shaking his head – surely they would have been able to see him through the glass in return – Merlin pulled it open with a smile.

Arthur stood immediately before him, dressed in a suit as though he'd just come from work, which he very possibly had. Of course it was Arthur, because love him though Merlin did he wasn't blind enough to overlook the fact that Arthur was a self-entitled prat most of the time and if he wanted to be first than he bloody well would be.

He wasn't wearing his prat-face now, however. He was smiling, a smile that widened further as Merlin swung the door fully open and only set already gorgeous features alight. "Sorry we're late," he said, and there was true apology in his tone. Merlin wondered how many people would be stunned to hear him speak with so much sincerity.

"No trouble," Merlin said with a shrug. Then he raised his phone indicatively. "Although, the texts you send me with the Frog Prince references I could do with less of."

"I think they're appropriate," Arthur said smugly.

"That one wasn't even from the original story," Merlin sighed, though he couldn't help but be satisfied for their joking. It was a relief every time Arthur referred to his time as a frog with anything less than unease. He seemed to take to joking only more so recently.

"I thought it appropriate," Arthur repeated.

"I'm hardly a princess."

"And yet you opened the door."

"Alright, you two, enough," Morgana exclaimed as she forcibly shoved past her brother to step through the doorway. Merlin never would have expected before he'd met her that she would be such a physically demonstrative person as she was, and it was rarely in displays of affection. She'd elbowed Arthur out of her way in Merlin's presence more times than he could count.

Morgana stepped forwards with her own smile and leaned in to drop a kiss on Merlin's cheek. She smiled at him warmly. "We really are sorry, Merlin. I hope we're not too much trouble for our lateness."

"Not at all," Merlin said, stepping aside slightly and gesturing her past him. Her smile widened as she obliged, drawing Helios after her with a hand locked around the tall man's wrist and her bodyguard – a silent woman with a tangle of blonde hair and thick eyeliner who had never actually spoken in Merlin's hearing – right after them.

After they'd past, Merlin wasn't even able to take a step towards Arthur once more for Gwaine ploughing through him to barge through the door. He was laughing, arms widened in welcome and nearly bowling Arthur over as well as he bypassed him in favour of launching himself at Leon and Percival standing behind him. "My boys! How are we both?"

Laughter met his words, Leon's usual amusement and fond shaking of his head and Percival's slight bafflement but similar delight following. Gwaine had that sort of effect on most people; confusing, a little exasperating, but generally loveable.

"What in Gods name are you wearing, Gwaine?" Percival asked.

"It's a Christmas sweater."

"It's a fashion disaster."

"Don't speak too soon, Leon, I've got sweaters for the both of you too. You can't come to a Christmas dinner and not wear one."

"I think I'll pass."

"Not an option, Perce! I insist."

"You really don't have to –"

"No, no, I insist…"

Merlin chuckled to himself as Gwaine set about lovingly harassing Leon and Percival before turning back towards Arthur. Arthur was similarly shaking his head, visibly suppressing his amusement; he might bemoan Gwaine's 'adoption' of his two friends and bodyguards, but like everyone else, even Will though he would deny it to his grave, he liked him. Everyone did.

"Tell me the sweaters aren't really a rule," he said, ascending the last step before the door until he stood directly before Merlin.

Merlin smirked. "Oh, they most definitely are. I'm surprised you didn't bring one after last year."

"I'd thought that was a one off thing," Arthur sighed with dramatised distress. "I wore it to make Hunith happy but swore never to do so again."

"Tough luck, because it's that or sleep outside tonight," Merlin teased, before stepping towards Arthur and wrapping an arm around his waist. It was bitterly cold outside, and though snow wasn't yet falling Merlin didn't think it was far off.

Arthur smirked before wrapping his own arms around Merlin in turn. "Well, if that's the ultimatum, then I might have to bend my back."

The kiss he pressed upon Merlin's lips was soft and warm. It more than made up for the chill of the outdoors. It was only the second Christmas they'd ever spent together but Merlin had already decided that it was at least his second favourite.

* * *

The feel of Merlin lying atop of him, skin to skin and full weight pressed along him, would have been enough of drive anyone mad. Arthur had long since considered himself most of the way there already. He loved Merlin, loved everything about him. Even the things that he sometimes – sometimes and infrequently at that – found annoying. He loved his foolishness, his light-heartedness, the way he never seemed to get angry or irritated at anything. He loved that he was so passionate about his horses, that he loved his mother, that he threw his all into everything that he attempted.

But the sex. The sex was definitely something other. Arthur hadn't anticipated that.

In the aftermath of heady passion, the tingling fuzziness of release, there was nothing but utter comfort and satisfaction trickling like oozing honey through Arthur. He drew his arms along Merlin's back, trailed across sweat-smattered skin and curving over his shoulders. He'd been with men before, but Merlin was simply something other. Something other to _him._ He wasn't sure if it was that Arthur thought him gorgeous in an unexpected and unprecedented way, that he could never seem to have his fill of drawing his gaze over him. It could have been that they exchanged jokes and laughed with one another in a way that Arthur had never experienced before, teasing and bantering and quite literally scuffling at times more often than offering doting words of affection. At least in Arthur's mind they almost seemed like the same thing.

Or it could have simply been that Arthur loved him. Which he did. After a year, a whole year of intermittent meets interspersed between Arthur's work and duties – both of which he almost resented at times but stuck to nonetheless – and Merlin's studies, that much hadn't changed in the slightest. If anything, Arthur begrudged the time they spent apart. He didn't think that would ever change either, even if they did ever get to the stage where they lived together.

Arthur loved Merlin. Whole-heartedly.

With a sigh, a satisfied groan, Merlin shifted to roll off of Arthur until he was lying more alongside him than on top. In the dopey aftermath, Arthur followed his motion, turning to roll into him and curl himself around him. Merlin instinctively – because it did seem almost instinctive now – wrapped his arms around him in turn, weaving his legs around Arthur's until they were more a mess of fused limbs than two separate individuals. Arthur could feel the gradual slowing of his heartbeat as it thumped against his own.

Merlin pressed a kiss onto his cheek, onto the side of Arthur's lips, and Arthur responded in turn by drawing him into a lazy kiss of his own, slow and almost arduous for the heaviness of limbs. The room was silent but for the huff of breaths, the smack of lips, the faintest of squeaks as the mattress of Merlin's bed shifted beneath them.

When Arthur finally drew away from Merlin it was to slump heavily against him, eyelids already sliding closed. His head dropped onto Merlin's shoulder, slipped down to rest upon his chest as Merlin shifted beneath him. "I take it your mum won't mind if by chance she happens to catch me in your room tomorrow?"

Merlin snorted from above him. "Are you kidding me? I don't even know why she bothers with the pretence of giving you your own these days."

"I think that's probably more for your father's sanity," Arthur said.

Merlin hummed his agreement. "Honestly, you'd think I was a teenager with my first boyfriend. Over protective much?"

"I get the impression he doesn't like me," Arthur murmured sleepily, eyes sliding shut. He didn't really care what Balinor Emerson thought of him but it was worth noting.

"Like you care," Merlin replied, speaking his thoughts. "Like _I_ care."

"Glad to hear we're of a like mind."

"I think he was just a bit put out about Christmas last year."

Arthur shifted, tipping his head until it was turned towards Merlin. "He's still pissed off about that?"

Merlin shrugged, a slightly awkward motion as Arthur was draped half on top of him. "I think it's probably just the time of year. Unearthed mixed feelings about the past and all that, you know?"

Arthur fell silent for a moment. He wasn't one really to regret his actions, and didn't much care for the opinions of anyone but Merlin and himself. Not even his father or Morgana were afforded consideration even resembling that he would spare for Merlin. In actuality, for the first time in Arthur's life, someone was actually… Merlin was actually _more_ important than himself.

Hearing of Balinor's disgruntlement concerned him more for the fact that it might worry Merlin than because of Balinor himself. "Is he going to be pissed off this year too, then?"

Merlin shifted beneath him, dropping his gaze down atop Arthur. He tugged idly at his hair in a way that was somehow a combination of a caress and a jerking reprimand. "Why? Does that bother you?"

Arthur shook his head. "It doesn't bother _me._ I was just wondering how prepared I should be when I tell Hunith that I'm going to request your accompaniment to the Christmas do."

"The Christmas do?" Merlin said with a smirk. "Fuck, does that sound pompous."

"Tell me about it," Arthur sighed. He was sure he sounded more exasperated than he really felt. True, he didn't particularly like the events held supposedly 'in his honour' that were more for the media and the paparazzi than anything, but if Merlin was there… " _If_ I was going to ask them, anyway."

Merlin paused in his gentle tugging. Arthur saw his eyebrow quirk just slightly. "Should I be worried that you're thinking of taking someone else with you?" He asked. His tone was only teasing, however.

Snorting himself, Arthur turned his head so his cheek was resting upon Merlin's chest. "You see right through me," he said sarcastically, but he tucked his arms more tightly around Merlin in a squeeze that shed any sting from his words. As if he would ever see anyone else. He knew how he'd been in the past but that was very definitely in the past. Arthur didn't _want_ anyone else. He doubted – sincerely doubted – that he ever would.

There was no one quite like Merlin. Not to him.

Merlin drew his own arms around him in reply. When he spoke it was in a murmur. "I take it I'm afforded an invitation, then?"

Arthur was silent for a moment. Really, he wanted Merlin there. It would be perhaps the only thing that would make such circumstances endurable. But by the same token, he knew that Merlin wouldn't like his face in the paper, across social media, accompanied by headlines preaching of his and Arthur's 'love affair'. Merlin would never be one to pursue fame or infamy, not like Arthur had both intentionally and unconsciously done in the past. It wasn't him.

More than that, however, Arthur knew how he felt about leaving home. He was far less hesitant than he had been, and more and more recently Merlin had taken the opportunity to visit Cardiff or London to see Arthur rather than the other way around. Sometimes spontaneously, too, the first of which had filled Arthur with such warm surprise that he'd quite happily disregarded work for the few days that Merlin had been visiting. Best of all, Merlin actually seemed to enjoy it. It was a strange paradox of a situation, because while Merlin so desperately wanted to remain at his mother's side for her sake, he similarly clearly loved seeing knew sights and going new places.

As such, even with his enthusiasm, Merlin's tendency to depart from the sprawling estate that Arthur himself had become so fond of was gradual. Arthur never wanted to drag him away when he didn't want to go.

"Not if you don't want to come," Arthur said finally. He hoped the truth of his words was masked well enough, but he doubted it. Just as he had when Arthur had been transformed, Merlin had always been able to read him almost eerily well.

"Hm," Merlin hummed, and Arthur could feel the vibrations of it ripple through his ear. "Well, it wouldn't be appalling, I suppose."

"You'd have to wear a tux."

"Urgh," Merlin grunted, though there was amusement in the utterance.

"And eat ridiculously expensive meals of ridiculously small portions," Arthur continued, the beginnings of a smile touching his lips as he glanced up at Merlin.

"Dear God, spare me that."

"And then there's the dancing, and the pictures, and what will most likely be interviews that some hag with too-long fingernails managing to drag you into –"

"You're making this sound so appealing," Merlin cut him off with a laugh. The tugging of his fingers through Arthur's hair really had become more of a gentle stroking now.

Arthur sighed a little regretfully. "Just letting you know what you're getting into. If you agree, that is."

"Of course I'm coming," Merlin said instantly. "I wouldn't miss it for the world."

"Not even for the potential of skipping your mother's Christmas Eve roast?" Arthur asked.

"Tempting," Merlin laughed, "but no."

Arthur smothered his smile against Merlin's shoulder as he closed his eyes to the feeling of Merlin's fingers grazing across his scalp. He never would have thought that such a casual yet conversely intimate touch would be so hypnotising but it was. Merlin seemed to realise how comforting it was, and Arthur had fallen to sleep to it on more than one occasion. "Alright, then. We'll have to buy you a new tux."

"What about the other one you got me for last time? I've literally only worn it once."

"Merlin," Arthur muttered, already half asleep but needing to say it anyway. "Let me buy you a tux."

Merlin didn't complain after that. Arthur knew that in many ways Merlin saw him as frivolous, as careless with his money, which admittedly in some ways Arthur was. But mostly, most of the time these days, he splurged on Merlin. He'd buy him the whole fucking world if Merlin asked for it. He'd drifted towards sleep, just as he was in that moment, to such a realisation on more than one occasion.

Arthur personally didn't need the world. He didn't need expenses. He lived for the experiences, the chances, the moments that he'd taught himself to keep a keen eye out for. The moments that he couldn't miss, not for anything.

Merlin had been one of those moments and Arthur hadn't missed it. Nearly, but not quite, and he lived heartily with that decision every day. Because when Arthur made a decision, that was it. He'd decided. He didn't look back and he didn't change his mind, because everything Arthur did he threw his whole self into. And Merlin…

Merlin had been the best decision by far

* * *

A/N: Last chapter and that's the end! I hope you liked the story. If you did - or, regretfully, didn't - or if you have any questions or anything at all to say, please leave a review. Even just a brief word would be so greatly appreciated. Thank you!


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